To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran And much it grieved my heart to think What Man has made of Man.
The child is the father of the man.
A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;We will grieve not, rather findStrength in what remains behind;In the primal sympathyWhich having been must ever...
To character and success two things contradictory as they may seem must go together-humble dependence and manly independence: humble dependence on God and manly reliance on self.
A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,Hath had elsewhere its setting,And cometh from afar:Not in entire forgetfulness,And not in utter nakedness,But tr...
Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.
When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love as if to keep it warm.
Nature is a volume of which God is the author.
Society has parted man from man, neglectful of the universal heart.
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
We must be free or die who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.
When from our better selves we have too longBeen parted by the hurrying world, and droop,Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,How gracious, how benign, is Solitude
Words are too awful an instrument for good and evil to be trifled with: they hold above all other external powers a dominion over thoughts. If words be not (recurring to a metaphor before used) an inc...
One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
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.