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The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about; and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.
William Wordsworth
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Interpretation

What this quote means

The quote expresses a sense of freedom and joy in exploring the world, even without a clear guide.

In this quote, William Wordsworth reflects on the beauty and vastness of nature, emphasizing the joy of exploration and the notion that one can find their path in life despite uncertainties. The imagery of the earth as a canvas invites a sense of adventure, suggesting that even if guidance may seem fleeting or unclear, a heartfelt approach to exploration will lead to meaningful experiences.

Themes

FreedomNatureExplorationJoyGuidance

In practice

Example use cases

This quote can inspire students during a motivational speech about pursuing their passions.

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.
William WordsworthRead
Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.
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