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Bartlett's Familiar Quotations

A Collection of Passages, Phrases, and Proverbs Traced to Their Sources in Ancient and Modern Literature


The following 98 quotes match your criteria:


Author: William Wordsworth
Oh, be wiser thou!
Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.

Author: William Wordsworth
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood,
And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.

Author: William Wordsworth
Action is transitory,—a step, a blow;
The motion of a muscle, this way or that.

Author: William Wordsworth
Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,
Through words and things, a dim and perilous way.

Author: William Wordsworth
A simple child
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

Author: William Wordsworth
O Reader! had you in your mind
Such stores as silent thought can bring,
O gentle Reader! you would find
A tale in everything.

Author: William Wordsworth
I ’ve heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath oftener left me mourning.

Author: William Wordsworth
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

Author: William Wordsworth
And ’t is my faith, that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

Author: William Wordsworth
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.

Author: William Wordsworth
Up! up! my friend, and quit your books,
Or surely you ’ll grow double!
Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks!
Why all this toil and trouble?

Author: William Wordsworth
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

Author: William Wordsworth
One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Author: William Wordsworth
The bane of all that dread the Devil.

Author: William Wordsworth
Sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.

Author: William Wordsworth
That best portion of a good man’s life,—
His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love.

Author: William Wordsworth
That blessed mood,
In which the burden of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened.

Author: William Wordsworth
The fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.

Author: William Wordsworth
The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite,—a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm
By tho

Author: William Wordsworth
But hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity.

Author: William Wordsworth
A sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,—
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking

Author: William Wordsworth
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her.

Author: William Wordsworth
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life.

Author: William Wordsworth
Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel
To self-reproach.

Author: William Wordsworth
As in the eye of Nature he has lived,
So in the eye of Nature let him die!

Author: William Wordsworth
There ’s something in a flying horse,
There ’s something in a huge balloon.

Author: William Wordsworth
The common growth of Mother Earth
Suffices me,—her tears, her mirth,
Her humblest mirth and tears.

Author: William Wordsworth
Full twenty times was Peter feared,
For once that Peter was respected.

Author: William Wordsworth
A primrose by a river’s brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.

Author: William Wordsworth
The soft blue sky did never melt
Into his heart; he never felt
The witchery of the soft blue sky!

Author: William Wordsworth
On a fair prospect some have looked,
And felt, as I have heard them say,
As if the moving time had been
A thing as steadfast as the scene
On which they gazed themselves away.

Author: William Wordsworth
As if the man had fixed his face,
In many a solitary place,
Against the wind and open sky!

Author: William Wordsworth
One of those heavenly days that cannot die.

Author: William Wordsworth
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
  Beside the springs of Dove,—
A maid whom there were none to praise
  And very few to love.

Author: William Wordsworth
A violet by a mossy stone
  Half hidden from the eye;
Fair as a star, when only one
  Is shining in the sky.

Author: William Wordsworth
She lived unknown, and few could know
  When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and oh
  The difference to me!

Author: William Wordsworth
The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
  In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
  Shall pass into her face.

Author: William Wordsworth
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.

Author: William Wordsworth
The child is father of the man.

Author: William Wordsworth
    The cattle are grazing,
    Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!
The Cock is crowing.

Author: William Wordsworth
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

Author: William Wordsworth
Often have I sighed to measure
By myself a lonely pleasure,—
Sighed to think I read a book,
Only read, perhaps, by me.

Author: William Wordsworth
As high as we have mounted in delight,
In our dejection do we sink as low.

Author: 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?

Author: William Wordsworth
I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy,
The sleepless soul that perished in his pride;
Of him who walked in glory and in joy,
Following his plough, along the mountain-side.
By our own spirits we are deified;
We Poets in our youth begin

Author: William Wordsworth
That heareth not the loud winds when they call,
And moveth all together, if it moves at all.

Author: William Wordsworth
Choice word and measured phrase above the reach
Of ordinary men.

Author: William Wordsworth
And mighty poets in their misery dead.

Author: William Wordsworth
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will;
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
Earth has not anything to show more fair.

Author: William Wordsworth
The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration.

Author: William Wordsworth
Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade
Of that which once was great is passed away.

Author: 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

Author: William Wordsworth
One that would peep and botanize
Upon his mother’s grave.

Author: William Wordsworth
He murmurs near the running brooks
A music sweeter than their own.

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

Author: William Wordsworth
The harvest of a quiet eye,
That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

Author: William Wordsworth
Yet sometimes, when the secret cup
Of still and serious thought went round,
It seemed as if he drank it up,
He felt with spirit so profound.

Author: William Wordsworth
My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,
For the same sound is in my ears
Which in those days I heard.

Author: William Wordsworth
A happy youth, and their old age
Is beautiful and free.

Author: William Wordsworth
And often, glad no more,
We wear a face of joy because
We have been glad of yore.

Author: William Wordsworth
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door.

Author: William Wordsworth
    A youth to whom was given
So much of earth, so much of heaven.

Author: William Wordsworth
Until a man might travel twelve stout miles,
Or reap an acre of his neighbor’s corn.

Author: William Wordsworth
Something between a hindrance and a help.

Author: William Wordsworth
Drink, pretty creature, drink!

Author: William Wordsworth
Lady of the Mere,
Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.

Author: William Wordsworth
And he is oft the wisest man
  Who is not wise at all.

Author: William Wordsworth
“A jolly place,” said he, “in times of old!
But something ails it now: the spot is cursed.”

Author: William Wordsworth
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.

Author: William Wordsworth
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

Author: William Wordsworth
Plain living and high thinking are no more.
The homely beauty of the good old cause
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
And pure religion breathing household laws.
O, Friend! I know not which way I must look.

Author: William Wordsworth
Milton! thou should’st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee!
     .     .     .     .     .     .
Thy soul w

Author: William Wordsworth
We must be free or die who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake, the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.

Author: William Wordsworth
A noticeable man, with large gray eyes.

Author: William Wordsworth
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.

Author: William Wordsworth
The poet’s darling.

Author: William Wordsworth
Thou unassuming commonplace
Of Nature.

Author: William Wordsworth
Oft on the dappled turf at ease
I sit, and play with similes,
Loose type of things through all degrees.

Author: William Wordsworth
Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven
This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven;
The rueful conflict, the heart riven
  With vain endeavour,
And memory of Earth’s bitter leaven
  Effaced forever.

Author: William Wordsworth
The best of what we do and are,
Just God, forgive!

Author: William Wordsworth
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago.

Author: William Wordsworth
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain
That has been, and may be again.

Author: William Wordsworth
The music in my heart I bore
Long after it was heard no more.

Author: William Wordsworth
Yon foaming flood seems motionless as ice;
Its dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,
Frozen by distance.

Author: William Wordsworth
A famous man is Robin Hood,
The English ballad-singer’s joy.

Author: William Wordsworth
    Because the good old rule
Sufficeth them,—the simple plan,
That they should take who have the power,
    And they should keep who can.

Author: William Wordsworth
The Eagle, he was lord above,
  And Rob was lord below.

Author: William Wordsworth
A brotherhood of venerable trees.

Author: William Wordsworth
Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow;
The swan on still St. Mary’s Lake
Float double, swan and shadow!

Author: William Wordsworth
Every gift of noble origin
Is breathed upon by Hope’s perpetual breath.
These Times strike Monied Worldlings.

Author: William Wordsworth
A remnant of uneasy light.

Author: William Wordsworth
Oh for a single hour of that Dundee
Who on that day the word of onset gave!

Author: William Wordsworth
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering voice?

Author: William Wordsworth
She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight,
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair,
Like twilights too her dusky hair,
But all things else about her drawn
Fr

Author: 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.

Author: William Wordsworth
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command.

Author: William Wordsworth
That inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude.

Author: William Wordsworth
To be a Prodigal’s favourite,—then, worse truth,
A Miser’s pensioner,—behold our lot!



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