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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.

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
Book
Lovers
Type
Influence
Books
Past
Best

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.
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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.
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We live by admiration, hope and love.
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The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
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Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
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What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.
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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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Dreams, books, are each a world.
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Two voices are there one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
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When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country--am I to be blamed?
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The monumental pomp of age Was with this goodly personage A stature undepressed in size, Unbent, which rather seemed to rise In open victory o'er the weight Of seventy years, to loftier height.
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As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
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The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
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The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
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Plain living and high thinking are no more.
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From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
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Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.
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The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
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