From Book VII of "The Prelude, or Growth of a Poet's Mind: An Autobiographical Poem" by William Wordsworth

The matter that detains us now may seem,
To many, neither dignified enough
Nor arduous, yet will not be scorned by them,
Who, looking inward, have observed the ties
That bind the perishable hours of life
Each to the other, and the curious props
By which the world of memory and thought
Exists and is sustained.

As copied down by Virginia Woolf in her diary.