Quote

Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.

William Wordsworth

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William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Lying
Silent
Hides
Hoards
Truth
Gold
Tombs
Sultan
Book
Lies
Preserved
Ancestral
Need
Whose
Chamber
Orient
Needs
Deep
Store
Unlock
Books
Precious
Chambers
Within
Stores
Accumulated
Age
Treasure
Gems

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.
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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.
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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
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Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming commonplace Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace Which love makes for thee!
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Wisdom sits with children round her knees.
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
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Me this uncharted freedom tires I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.
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How many undervalue the power of simplicity ! But it is the real key to the heart.
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I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
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Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
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Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou soul, that art the eternity of thought, And giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion.
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Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.
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For by superior energies more strict affiance in each other faith more firm in their unhallowed principles, the bad have fairly earned a victory over the weak, the vacillating, inconsistent good.
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