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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
William Wordsworth
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William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
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Cockermouth
Cumbria
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More quotes by William Wordsworth
A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
William Wordsworth
May books and nature be their early joy!
William Wordsworth
Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
William Wordsworth
All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.
William Wordsworth
Dreams, books, are each a world and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
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'Tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes!
William Wordsworth
A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
William Wordsworth
Let Nature be your teacher
William Wordsworth
The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone
William Wordsworth
Wisdom married to immortal verse.
William Wordsworth
Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
William Wordsworth
Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
William Wordsworth
The child is the father of man.
William Wordsworth
Stop thinking for once in your life!
William Wordsworth
The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.
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poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
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Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life.
William Wordsworth
Imagination, which in truth Is but another name for absolute power And clearest insight, amplitude of mind, And reason, in her most exalted mood.
William Wordsworth
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
