Love Wordsworth Quotes & Sayings

What we have loved
Others will love
And we will teach them how. — William Wordsworth

The best portion of a good man's life: his little, nameless unremembered acts of kindness and love. — William Wordsworth

The best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love. — William Wordsworth

Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind. — William Wordsworth

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind
But how could I forget thee? — William Wordsworth

Love betters what is best — William Wordsworth

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel
In worlds whose course is equable and pure:
No fears to beat away - no strife to heal,
The past unsighed for, and the future sure. — William Wordsworth

Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security. — William Wordsworth

A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave! — William Wordsworth

We live by admiration, hope and love. — William Wordsworth

...The happy Warrior... is he... whose powers shed round him in the common strife, or mild concerns of ordinary life, a constant influence, a peculiar grace; but who, if he be called upon to face some awful moment to which Heaven has joined great issues, good or bad for human kind, is happy as a lover; and attired with sudden brightness, like a man inspired; and, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law in calmness made, and sees what he foresaw; or if an unexpected call succeed, come when it will, is equal to the need: he who, though thus endued as with a sense and faculty for storm and turbulence, is yet a soul whose master-bias leans to homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes; sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be, are at his heart; and such fidelity it is his darling passion to approve; more brave for this, that he hath much to love:- — William Wordsworth

A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. — William Wordsworth

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? — William Wordsworth

And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love. — William Wordsworth

to be incapable of a feeling of poetry, in my sense of the word, is to be without love of human nature — William Wordsworth

Did you know that Bharatiyar used the pen name "Shelley-dasan"? He admired the poems of Shelley so deeply that he wrote under the name "Shelley's servant". Wasn't that a wonderful gesture of humility by someone
who was such a great poet himself? And later, Bharatiyar had his own dasan, the poet Subburathinam, who took
the pen name Bharathidasan. Subburathinam's poetry inspired yet another poet who wrote as Surada, short for Subburathina-dasan. And to think this long chain of inspiration spans centuries, going back to the poets who inspired Wordsworth, who inspired Shelley, who inspired our own Bharati. — Indu Muralidharan

Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm. — William Wordsworth

His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless. — William Wordsworth

All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops; - on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. — William Wordsworth

And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner's eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple. — William Wordsworth

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

She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
- Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me! — William Wordsworth

A cheerful life is what the Muses love, A soaring spirit is their prime delight. — William Wordsworth

But Wordsworth stuck with me when he said, "Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity." This book is a spontaneous overflow in the middle of chaos, not tranquillity. So it's not a poem to you. It's a half poem. It's a "po." It's a Poehler po. Wordsworth also said that the best part of a person's life is "his little, nameless, unremembered, acts of kindness and of love." I look forward to reading a book one day in which someone lists mine. I feel like I may have failed to do so. Either way, it's obvious I am currently on a Wordsworth kick and this should give you literary confidence as you read Yes Please. The — Amy Poehler

The unconquerable pang of despised love. — William Wordsworth

While all the future, for thy purer soul,
With "sober certainties" of love is blest. — William Wordsworth

Surprised by joy- impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport
Oh! with whom
But thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?
That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. — William Wordsworth

But thou art with us, with us in the past,
The present, with us in the times to come.
There is no grief, no sorrow, no despair,
No languor, no dejection, no dismay,
No absence scarcely can there be, for those
Who love as we do. Speed thee well! — William Wordsworth

Oh, be wise, Thou!
Instructed that true knowledge leads to love. — William Wordsworth

Primroses, the Spring may love them; Summer knows but little of them. — William Wordsworth

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. — William Wordsworth

The days are cold, the nights are long, The North wind sings a doleful song; Then hush again upon my breast; All merry things are now at rest, Save thee, my pretty love! — Dorothy Wordsworth

The man whose eye
Is ever on himself doth look on one,
The least of Nature's works, one who might move
The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds
Unlawful, ever. O, be wiser, Thou!
Instructed that true knowledge leads to love;
True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
In loneliness of heart. — William Wordsworth

There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart. — William Wordsworth

Wordsworth also said that the best part of a person's life is "his little, nameless, unremembered, acts of kindness and of love." I — Amy Poehler

We live by Admiration, Hope, and Love;
And, even as these are well and wisely fixed,
In dignity of being we ascend. — William Wordsworth

The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite; a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye. — William Wordsworth

Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive
But to be young was very heaven. — William Wordsworth

What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love? — William Wordsworth

Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower,
We feel that we are greater than we know. — William Wordsworth

There is no future in it, Will Henry," he said pensively. "The future belongs to science. The fate of our species will be determined by the likes of Edison and Tesla, not Wordsworth or Whitman. The poets will lie upon the shores of Babylon and weep, poisoned by the fruit that grows from the ground where the Muses' corpses rot. The poets' voices will be drowned out by the gears of progress. I foresee the day when all sentiment is reduced to a chemical equation in our brains - hope, faith, even love - their exact locations pinned down and mapped out, so we may point to it and say, 'Here, in this region of our cerebral cortex, lies the soul.' — Rick Yancey

And I love Jane Austen's use of language too
the way she takes her time to develop a phrase and gives it room to grow, so that these clever, complex statements form slowly and then bloom in my mind. Beethoven does the same thing with his cadence and phrasing and structure. It's a fact: Jane Austen is musical. And so's Yeats. And Wordsworth. All the great writers are musical. — Andrew Clements

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; And humble cares, and delicate fears; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears; And love and thought and joy. — William Wordsworth

Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love. — William Wordsworth

With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming commonplace Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace Which love makes for thee! — William Wordsworth

Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him; it was blessedness and love! — William Wordsworth

Back home, Huxley drew from this experience to compose a series of audacious attacks against the Romantic love of wilderness. The worship of nature, he wrote, is "a modern, artificial, and somewhat precarious invention of refined minds." Byron and Wordsworth could only rhapsodize about their love of nature because the English countryside had already been "enslaved to man." In the tropics, he observed, where forests dripped with venom and vines, Romantic poets were notably absent. Tropical peoples knew something Englishmen didn't. "Nature," Huxley wrote, "is always alien and inhuman, and occasionally diabolic." And he meant always: Even in the gentle woods of Westermain, the Romantics were naive in assuming that the environment was humane, that it would not callously snuff out their lives with a bolt of lightning or a sudden cold snap. After three days amid the Tuckamore, I was inclined to agree. — Robert Moor