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Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feeling of the Author.

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
Feelings
Doe
Everything
Tedious
Author
Feeling
Read

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Enough, if something from our hands have power To live, and act, and serve the future hour And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, We feel that we are greater than we know.
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The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.
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Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.
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Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
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Books are the best type of the influence of the past.
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Let Nature be your teacher
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Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
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The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.
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I'm not talking about a show me other walls of this thing button, I mean a stumble button for wallbase.
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At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.
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I should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of illustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully the imaginative purity of classical works with gross and trivial recollections.
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And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.
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Faith is a passionate intuition.
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A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
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Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.
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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.
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Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
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A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light
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Wisdom and spirit of the Universe!
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In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
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