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Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
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
Excess
Affect
Fancy
Luxury
Familiar
Prodigal
Happiness
Prodigals
Fancies
Disrespect
More quotes by William Wordsworth
Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
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Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.
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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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Departing summer hath assumed An aspect tenderly illumed, The gentlest look of spring That calls from yonder leafy shade Unfaded, yet prepared to fade, A timely carolling.
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A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
William Wordsworth
The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
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Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
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Love betters what is best
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Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
William Wordsworth
This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
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On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.
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What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
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Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.
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Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, I overlooked the bed of Windermere, Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
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Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
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As in the eye of Nature he has lived, So in the eye of Nature let him die!
William Wordsworth
Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.
William Wordsworth
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
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Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.
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His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
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