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Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.

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
Way
Passengers
Life
Casual
Stood
Though
Felt
Stills
Still
Awfulness
Much
Passenger

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But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.
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Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
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Nor less I deem that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness
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In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs-in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time.
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Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
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poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge
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The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth: Think not that Prudence dwells in dark abodes, She scans the future with the eye of gods.
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One of those heavenly days that cannot die.
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Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan.
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...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.
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Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.
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Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
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my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion.
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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
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The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
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He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
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But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
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Stop thinking for once in your life!
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Before us lay a painful road, And guidance have I sought in duteous love From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.
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