William Wordsworth Quotes

Habit rules the unreflecting herd.

Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.

Miss not the occasion; by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.

The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away; than what it leaves behind.

[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.

There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon.

When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

Memories... images and precious thoughts that shall not die and cannot be destroyed.

But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant

Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.

Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.

Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.

That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.

In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.

To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!

And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.

Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?

Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.

The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.

A brotherhood of venerable trees.

When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.

A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.

May books and nature be their early joy!

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.

To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.

Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.

What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.

Neither evil tongues, rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall ever prevail against us.

Wisdom married to immortal verse.

The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled; And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!

Plain living and high thinking are no more.

Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!

'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.

The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.

But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.

We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.

Chains tie us down by land and sea; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.

Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower.

Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.

Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.

A tale in everything.

That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.

Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose type of things through all degrees.

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.

Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.

And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.