Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea.

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I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

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We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.

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The day is dark and cold and dreary; it rains, and the wind is never weary.

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None but yourself who are your greatest foe.

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Is this is a dream? O, if it be a dream, Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet!

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Men of genius are often dull and inert in society; as the blazing meteor, when it descends to earth, is only a stone.

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Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha the Beloved, In the glory of the sunset, In the purple mists of evening, To the regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Land of the Hereafter!

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Some feelings are quite untranslatable; no language has yet been found for them. They gleam upon us beautifully through the dim twilight of fancy, and yet when we bring them close to us, and hold them up to the light of reason, lose their beauty all at once, as glow worms which gleam with such a spiritual light in the shadows of evening, when brought in where the candles are lighted, are found to be only worms like so many others.

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Ne speaketh not; and yet there lies a conversation in his eyes.

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God's voice was not in the earthquake, Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes.

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A handful of red sand from the hot clime Of Arab deserts brought, Within this glass becomes the spy of Time, The minister of Thought.

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Time has a doomsday book, upon whose pages he is continually recording illustrious names. But as often as a new name is written there, an old one disappears. Only a few stand in illuminated characters never to be effaced.

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Enthusiasm begets enthusiasm.

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The secret studies of an author are the sunken piers upon which is to rest the bridge of his fame, spanning the dark waters of oblivion. They are out of sight, but without them no superstructure can stand secure.

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There's nothing in this world so sweet as love. And next to love the sweetest thing is hate.

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Death is better than disease.

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The motives and purposes of authors are not always so pure and high, as, in the enthusiasm of youth, we sometimes imagine. To many the trumpet of fame is nothing but a tin horn to call them home, like laborers from, the field, at dinner-time, and they think themselves lucky to get the dinner.

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My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea

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Work is my recreation, The play of faculty; a delight like that Which a bird feels in flying, or a fish In darting through the water,--Nothing more.

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