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[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
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
Independent
Created
Pure
World
Mathematician
Mathematical
Math
Mathematics
Intelligence
More quotes by William Wordsworth
We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
William Wordsworth
The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose.
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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.
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O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
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Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.
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Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
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Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
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And mighty poets in their misery dead.
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When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
William Wordsworth
But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.
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To character and success, two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together... humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
William Wordsworth
But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
William Wordsworth
Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
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One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth's heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
William Wordsworth
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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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?
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Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
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Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.
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The Eagle, he was lord above
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My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.
William Wordsworth
