Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Born in February 27, 1807 / Died in March 24, 1882 / United States / English
Quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In ourselves are triumph and defeat.
There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.
Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending.
Such as the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow!...
To which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted, If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters returning Back to their springs, like the rain shall fill them full of refreshment That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, to some good angel leave the rest; For Time will teach thee soon the truth, there are no birds in last year's nest!
The heights by great men reached and kept, were not obtained by sudden flight. But they, while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night
The counterfeit and counterpart of nature are reproduced in art.
There is a Reaper whose name is Death, / And, with his sickle keen, / He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, / And the flowers that grow between.
Trust no future, however pleasant! Let the dead past bury its dead! Act, act in the living present! Heart within and God overhead.
The course of my long life hath reached at last in fragile bark over a tempestuous sea the common harbor, where must rendered be account for all the actions of the past.
Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.
The adoration of his heart had been to her only as the perfume of a wild flower, which she had carelessly crushed with her foot in passing.
The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight, but they while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night.
Trouble is the next best thing to enjoyment. There is no fate in the world so horrible as to have no share in either its joys or sorrows.
T trouble with fighting for human freedom is that one spends most of one's time defending scoundrels. For it is against scoundrels that oppressive laws are first aimed, and oppression must be stopped at t beginning if it is to be stopped at all
Pride and humiliation hand in hand Walked with them through the world where'er they went; Trampled and beaten were they as the sand, And yet unshaken as the continent.
All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.
The course of my long life hath reached at last In fragile bark o'er a tempestuous sea...
Age is opportunity no less, than youth itself, though in another dress. And as the evening twilight fades away, The sky is filled by the stars invisible by the day.
And the night shall be filled with music, and the cares, that infest the day, shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, and as silently steal away.
For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build.
We have not wings we cannot soar; but, we have feet to scale and climb, by slow degrees, by more and more, the cloudy summits of our time.
One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.
