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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
Tedious
Author
Feeling
Read
Feelings
Doe
Everything

More quotes by William Wordsworth

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Sweet is the lore which Nature brings Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art Close up these barren leaves Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.
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But to a higher mark than song can reach, Rose this pure eloquence.
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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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Let Nature be your teacher
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And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
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Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.
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For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
William Wordsworth
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To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!
William Wordsworth
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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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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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Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
William Wordsworth
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The sunshine is a glorious birth But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
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Chains tie us down by land and sea And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee.
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Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.
William Wordsworth
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Behold the Child among his new-born blisses A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art.
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Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
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She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
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On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of images before me rise, Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed.
William Wordsworth
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To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
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Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.
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