William Wordsworth
That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
Small service is true service, while it lasts.
She seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.
Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.
One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.
Not Chaos, not the darkest pit of lowest Erebus, nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out by help of dreams - can breed such fear and awe as fall upon us often when we look into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.
No motion has she now, no force; she neither hears nor sees; rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.
Neither evil tongues, rash judgements, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall e'er prevail against us.
Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.
Lost in a gloom of uninspired research.
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.
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
In modern business it is not the crook who is to be feared most, it is the honest man who doesn't know what he is doing.
I traveled among unknown men, in lands beyond the sea; nor England! did I know till then what love I bore to thee.
Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.
How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.