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

What this quote means

This quote criticizes materialism and emphasizes the value of simple living and meaningful thought.

William Wordsworth reflects on the detrimental effect of greed and excessive spending on the human spirit, suggesting that such priorities are akin to idolatry. He contrasts this with the virtues of plain living and high thinking, implying that true fulfillment comes not from material possessions but from intellectual and spiritual enrichment.

Themes

MaterialismSimplicityGreedPhilosophyLivingThought

In practice

Example use cases

In a speech about sustainable living, you might use this quote to underline the importance of valuing experiences over possessions.

More from William Wordsworth

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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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Quote by William Wordsworth | QuoteProject