873 Quotes by William Wordsworth

His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.

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.

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

There neither is, nor can be, any essential" difference between the language of prose and metrical composition.

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair. . . .

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

A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.

In years that bring the philosophic mind.

Yon foaming flood seems motionless as ice;Its dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,Frozen by distance.