William Wordsworth Quotes

My cup of sweets is not unmingled: it is dashed with a bitterness that I cannot hide from myself, disguise it as I will.

how sad and bad and mad it was - but then, how it was sweet

I'm attracted to how fraught the parent-child relationship is, swerving so easily between love and hostility, with almost no plausible way to end, unless someone dies.

I've always had a hard time just being angry or just being really sad - the bigger emotions.

Even in the midst of compassion we feel within I know not what tart sweet titillation of malicious pleasure in seeing others suffer; children have the same feeling.

Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow.

A mood can be a dangerous state of mind, because it can crush reason under the weight of feeling.

The confusing lesson whipped Frankie's anger into something she had never felt before. It was like an emotional meringue - the airy feeling of loneliness topped with the hard crisp of injustice. Yet its taste was far from sweet.

Of all sweet passions Shame is the loveliest.

A heat full of coldness, a sweet full of bitterness, a pain full of pleasantness, which maketh thoughts have eyes and hearts ears, bred by desire, nursed by delight, weaned by jealousy, kill'd by dissembling, buried by ingratitude, and this is love.

Craving that old sweet oneness yet dreading engulfment, wishing to be our mother's and yet be our own, we stormily swing from mood to mood, advancing and retreating-the quintessential model of two-mindedness.

Isn't joyful or painful this pain in which I rejoice

The churning of a human mind is unpredictable, as is the anatomy of the human heart.

Melancholy is kind of sweet sometimes, I think. It's not a negative thing. It's not a mean thing. It's just something that happens in life, like autumn.

Love is as bitter as the dregs of sin, As sweet as clover-honey in its cell; Love is the password whereby souls get in To Heaven--the gate that leads, sometimes, to Hell.

I have had passionate kisses and fierce ones, kisses so sweet they tasted like pure honey and kisses that cut like knives, but until this moment, I’ve never had one that said both hello and good-bye.

Family quarrels have a total bitterness unmatched by others. Yet it sometimes happens that they also have a kind of tang, a pleasantness beneath the unpleasantness, based on the tacit understanding that this is not for keeps; that any limb you climb out on will still be there later for you to climb back.

Spite is a little word, but it represents as strange a jumble of feelings and compound of discords, as any polysyllable in the language.

Tangled in one another's arms and nine times out of ten the things you think about a person make it impossible to touch them.

What was new was the fact that, despite my heart doing its fight-or-flight, help-we're-prey-and-HEY-STUPID-THAT'S-A-VAMPIRE number, I was glad to see him. Ridiculous but true. Scary but true.

Love has both its gall and honey in abundance: it has sweetness to the taste, but it presents bitterness also to satiety.

Love with complications. Scenery was the last thing on my mind.

There are some errors so sweet that we repent them only to bring them to memory.

Not to get too depressing, I've always been a slight whirling dervish in my life. I've always been at once a very spritely and energetic hilarious lady, but at the same time there is an equal dark side that's as comparable to the jovial - constantly walking on the high wire trying to figure out who to be each day.

Standing there, I loved myself and I hated myself. That's what the black Mary did to me, made me feel my glory and my shame at the same time.