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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
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William Wordsworth
Age: 80 †
Born: 1770
Born: April 7
Died: 1850
Died: April 23
Lyricist
Poet
Cockermouth
Cumbria
Wordsworth
Vision
Amplitude
Imagination
Clearest
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Exalted
Another
Insight
Truth
Absolutes
Power
Absolute
Reason
Mood
Mind
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More quotes by William Wordsworth
Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan.
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And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise 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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Faith is a passionate intuition.
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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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Provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke.
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We have within ourselves Enough to fill the present day with joy, And overspread the future years with hope.
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Dreams, books, are each a world.
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That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
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Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.
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To be young was very heaven!
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In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
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Monastic brotherhood, upon rock Aerial.
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The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.
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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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The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves And thus for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives.
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The sightless Milton, with his hair Around his placid temples curled And Shakespeare at his side,-a freight, If clay could think and mind were weight, For him who bore the world!
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All that we behold is full of blessings.
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Mark the babe not long accustomed to this breathing world One that hath barely learned to shape a smile, though yet irrational of soul, to grasp with tiny finger - to let fall a tear And, as the heavy cloud of sleep dissolves, To stretch his limbs, becoming, as might seem. The outward functions of intelligent man.
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There is creation in the eye.
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