873 Quotes by William Wordsworth

Another race hath been, and other palms are won./ Thanks to the human heart by which we live,/ Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears,/ To me the meanest flower that blows can give/ Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-calculated less or more.

Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.

Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.

Pleasure is spread through the earth In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.

Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.

And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.

As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie/ Couched on the bald top of an eminence.

...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.