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 in gladness, But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
Interpretation
This quote reflects on the duality of creative inspiration and the struggles that often accompany artistic genius.
William Wordsworth's quote highlights the tragic fate of talented individuals, particularly poets, who experience great joy and hope in their youth but often face despair and madness later in life. Through the example of Chatterton, a young poet who died tragically, Wordsworth illustrates how the creative spirit can lead to both exaltation and profound suffering, suggesting that the pursuit of art is fraught with emotional challenges that can sometimes overwhelm the artist.
In practice
During a graduation speech about the challenges of following one's passion.
For mightier far_x000D_ _x000D_ Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway_x000D_ _x000D_ Of magic potent over sun and star,_x000D_ _x000D_ Is love, though oft to agony distrest,_x000D_ _x000D_ And though his favourite be feeble woman's breast.
By all means sometimes be alone; salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear; dare to look in thy chest; and tumble up and down what thou findest there.
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,_x000D_ _x000D_ The earth, and every common sight,_x000D_ _x000D_ To me did seem_x000D_ _x000D_ Apparelled in celestial light,_x000D_ _x000D_ The glory and the freshness of a dream.
Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age; more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
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; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune.
Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
I have always detested any departure from reality, an attitude which I relate to my mother's poor mental health.
Let no man be called happy before his death. Till then, he is not happy, only lucky.
Be careful not to turn others' lives into the mold for your own...we have a #β God who is a #β Creator not a #β Duplicator .
War is not an independent phenomenon, but the continuation of politics by different means.
Morality must keep up with technology because if a person is faced with the choice of being moral and dead or immoral and alive, they'll choose life everytime.
Who is more real? Homer or Ulysses? Shakespeare or Hamlet? Burroughs or Tarzan?
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