Quote

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room And hermits are contented with their cells.

William Wordsworth

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Contented
Narrow
Cells
Spirituality
Convent
Room
Nuns
Rooms
Fret
Hermits
Nun

More quotes by William Wordsworth

Image
Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.
William Wordsworth
Image
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.
William Wordsworth
Image
For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
William Wordsworth
Image
The budding rose above the rose full blown.
William Wordsworth
Image
Love betters what is best
William Wordsworth
Image
A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
William Wordsworth
Image
Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.
William Wordsworth
Image
[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.
William Wordsworth
Image
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.
William Wordsworth
Image
A great poet ought to a certain degree to rectify men's feelings... to render their feelings more sane, pure and permanent, in short, more consonant to Nature.
William Wordsworth
Image
Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let them live upon their praises.
William Wordsworth
Image
Meek Walton's heavenly memory.
William Wordsworth
Image
I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, The sleepless soul that perished in his pride Of him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough, along the mountain-side. By our own spirits we are deified We Poets in our youth begin in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
William Wordsworth
Image
O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
William Wordsworth
Image
For mightier far Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway Of magic potent over sun and star, Is love, though oft to agony distrest, And though his favourite be feeble woman's breast.
William Wordsworth
Image
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
William Wordsworth
Image
Earth has not anything to show more fair.
William Wordsworth
Image
Habit rules the unreflecting herd.
William Wordsworth
Image
Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.
William Wordsworth
Image
The streams with softest sound are flowing, The grass you almost hear it growing, You hear it now, if e'er you can.
William Wordsworth