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.

The power of any art is limited.

Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.

The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benedictions.

Rest and be thankful.

The little unremembered acts of kindness and love are the best parts of a person's life.

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.

But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.

What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.

The child is father of the man.

And in thy voice I catch the language of my former heart, and read my former pleasures in the shooting lights of thy wild eyes.

Trailing clouds of glory do we come, from God, who is our home...

Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

What we need is not the will to believe, but the wish to find out.

For all good poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings...

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.

The ocean is a mighty harmonist.

A deep distress hath humanised my soul.

For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude.

I wandered lonely as a cloud.

I cannot paint what then I was.

What we have loved, others will love, and we will teach them how; instruct them how the mind of man becomes a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells...

Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.

Before me begging did she stand, Pouring out sorrows like a sea; Grief after grief:—on English Land Such woes I knew could never be; And yet a boon I gave her; for the Creature Was beautiful to see; a Weed of glorious feature!

How many undervalue the power of simplicity! But it is the real key to the heart.

The world is too much with us late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge.

The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest— Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast.

Therefore, let the moon shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty-mountain winds be free to blow against thee.

Hence in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

The world is too much with us.

Habit rules the unreflecting herd.

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

In truth the prison unto which we doom ourselves no prison is.

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

Faith is a passionate intuition.

All that we behold is full of blessings.

Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.

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

But trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home.

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony.

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting...

Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.

Friend is the one who showes the way and walks a piece of road with us.

Beclouded The sky is low, the clouds are mean, A travelling flake of snow Across a barn or through a rut Debates if it will go. A narrow wind complains all day How some one treated him; Nature, like us, is sometimes caught Without her diadem.

Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.

I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; 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...