873 Quotes by William Wordsworth

Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.

For nature then to me was all in all.

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart.

Characters of the great Apocalypse,/ The types and symbols of Eternity,/ Of first, and last, and midst, and without end.

I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man...

On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing is solitude

The rapt one, of the godlike forehead,/ The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth:/ And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle,/ Has vanished from his lonely hearth.

Milton, in his hand The thing became a trumpet

How is it that you live, and what is it you do?