Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

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!

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With useless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain!

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Think not because no man sees, such things will remain unseen.

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This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

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Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and silence.

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I will be a man among men; and no longer a dreamer among shadows.

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The twilight that surrounds the border-land of old romance.

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In old age our bodies are worn-out instruments, on which the soul tries in vain to play the melodies of youth. But because the instrument has lost its strings, or is out of tune, it does not follow that the musician has lost his skill.

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Resolve and thou art free.

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Books are sepulchres of thought.

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Even the blackest of them all, the crow, Renders good service as your man-at-arms, Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail. And crying havoc on the slug and snail.

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Under the spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. . . . He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. . . . Toiling,-rejoicing,-sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.

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The sunshine fails, the shadows grow more dreary, And I am near to fall, infirm and weary.

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The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea.

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O, though oft oppressed and lonely, All my fears are laid aside, If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died!

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Make not thyself the judge of any man.

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Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today.

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A boy's will is the wind's will.

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Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.

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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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