Quotes from William Wordsworth

Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!

Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.

On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.

That kill the bloom before its time, And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.

The best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.

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.

Delivered from the galling yoke of time.

That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.

To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

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

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

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

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?

A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.

And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.

The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.

I travelled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.

A brotherhood of venerable trees.

No motion has she now, no force; she neither hears nor sees; rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.

"One impulse from a vernal wood

This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.

We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love; And, even as these are well and wisely fixed, In dignity of being we ascend.

The unconquerable pang of despised love.

Oh, be wise, Thou! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.