Author of quotes: William Wordsworth

To my chest, son, lean against
Lips gentle - they
As if my heart
Pull their sorrow.
Rest on my breast,
Her fingers touch you:
Gives relief to her
Your cool hand.
Your arm is fresh, light,
As the wind.

Well its really not! The poor thing died early,
Nine years he peers left.
Oh, lovely quiet valley,
Where he was born! All ivy twined,
Hanging from the cliffs over the rural school and Church.
And if I happen on a summer evening
Go through the graveyard, I'm ready
There's a whole hour to stand with a deep Duma
Over the quiet grave where he sleeps.

"But if the brother and sister in heaven -
I cried, - how many are you?"
It is in response to my speech:
"There's seven of us now!"
"Not, alas! They're dead!
In heaven their home!"
She continues: "We are seven!" -
Not listening to me at all,
Stood his ground.

I met a girl, going
Dear field.
"Eight," - said the child
With curly hair.
Clothing pathetic it
And weird look.
But cute look in her eyes
Was gentle and open.
"And how many brothers and sisters
Your family, my light?"
Throwing a surprised look,
"We are seven," he answered.

He was looking for happiness, freedom and peace;
Then our happiness - the feeling
Central is peace.
He wanted to see the consistency
What was, is and will be infinitely
That kind of rewards he was looking for.
And that was another solid clamps
For the brotherhood, which built a monastery,
High on a cliff - shelter of the air, -
Or in the solitude of the valley,
What attracted all of them from distant places
Commonwealth slushy them inseparable? -
The instinct to soothe the world,
The desire of a confirmed peace,
Inside and outside; hill, humility;
Life, where the recollection and hope
Merged into one and where the earth is calm,
Where is her face barely changes
The work of the hands for the needs of undemanding
Ile force of the revolving year,
Where there is an immortal Soul,
In accord with his law clear,
And the sky for the delights of contemplation
Opened in forbidding silence.

Struise same to the end of the years,
On the Thames, in the glare of the gentle waves
So here dreamed of another poet,
Like me, visions of wonderful full!
Turkey, great river
As long as the same smooth ride
And our souls for centuries
Do not drift away like the waters.
No, be it to the end,
As you now came to me,
Then light the spirit of the singer
In your shining deep!
This spirit has blessed also
Who is himself in need of consolation,
Mourned for his brother
The last song of regret.

Eh forget the hour when the father, praying,
Looked from the hill to the spire on top of the branches,
Where from the bell tower music flowed
On the day of their wedding with my mother?
As he believed that there
To rest in the earth their home!
Well I could not pray: o'er the hills,
Through tears that flowed from his eyes by the river
I saw our house had someone else.
There I was friends with the boys one
Which, as a brother, for a long time
I love: we played with him
And songs sang among the green mountains.
And growing up, each other gentle eyes
We gave a pledge other awards.
We started the wedding talk.
I dreamed of our wedding ceremony
And my white wedding dress.
But a friend went to the far edge from us
The city to study masters.
Oh, how many tears in a parting hour,
And ardent vows, and the memorable words! -
With my father, we came under his shelter.
I cried, falling to his chest.
He swore me in trouble is ready
Love, in happiness. Long was our journey.
My father once again could sleep.

Among the untrodden road,
Where the key is the icy beat,
To get to know her, nobody could
And few people loved.
Violet was hiding in the woods
Under the stone is slightly visible.
A star twinkled in the heavens
One, always one.

Rainy night, going home,
I see suddenly a green beam at the stump.
Look, a Firefly! That's the joy, my God!
Overjoyed, I jumped off the horse.
I put the bug on a wet sheet
And brought in bad weather, on the night of his.
He was still green and radiant
Luminaries - and was not afraid of anything.

I hear your dvuhsvetny moan
Here lying on the grass;
Near, far, everywhere he
In the air the blue.
Valleys news he brings
About the sun, about the colors,
I - magic sweet dream
Of past wonderful days.

No end to my road,
The goal is still ahead
And nomad anxiety
Day and night in my breast.

Wisdom is many times closer to us when we bow in humility, than when up in the clouds.

Vanity, no doubt, brought much more benefit to civilization than modesty.

The book is a special world, pure, kind, among which we can live and be happy.