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Quote by William Wordsworth
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. - William Words

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. – William Wordsworth

Other quotes by William Wordsworth

I listened, motionless and still And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more. – William Wordsworth

Category:
Music
Author
William Wordsworth
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Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent. – William Wordsworth

Category:
Birds
Author
William Wordsworth
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Other Quotes from
Writing
category

Novelists… fashioning nets to sustain and support the reader as he falls helplessly through the chaos of his own existence. – Fay Weldon

Category:
Writing

An incurable itch for scribbling takes possession of many, and grows inveterate in their insane breasts. – Juvenal, Satires

Category:
Writing

For me, a page of good prose is where one hears the rain [and] the noise of battle. – John Cheever

Category:
Writing

Writing, I think, is not apart from living. Writing is a kind of double living. The writer experiences everything twice. Once in reality and once in that mirror which waits always before or behind. – Catherine Drinker Bowen, Atlantic, December 1957

Category:
Writing

Random Quotes

If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair. – C. S. Lewis

Category:
Truth

I wanted to get rid of the element that had been considered essential in pop music: the voice. – Brian Eno

Category:
Music

Im really happy here. I think anyone who knows me well, and the fans too I hope, they know that I love the area, and the bond that Ive had with the fans has been fantastic. – Frank Lampard

Category:
Hope

Death is the king of this world: Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet. – George Eliot

Category:
Death