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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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
Forgetting
Birth
Sleep
Forget
Eulogy
Forgetfulness
Incarnation
Afterlife
Reincarnation
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Action is transitory, a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle, this way or that, 'Tis done--And in the after-vacancy, We wonder at ourselves, like men betrayed.
William Wordsworth
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
William Wordsworth
Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
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We murder to dissect.
William Wordsworth
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
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We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
William Wordsworth
That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
William Wordsworth
Give all thou canst high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
William Wordsworth
By all means sometimes be alone salute thyself see what thy soul doth wear dare to look in thy chest and tumble up and down what thou findest there.
William Wordsworth
But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant
William Wordsworth
A deep distress has humanised my soul.
William Wordsworth
Long as there's a sun that sets, Primroses will have their glory Long as there are violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine.
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I look for ghosts but none will force Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead.
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
William Wordsworth
Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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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.
William Wordsworth
He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.
William Wordsworth