Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.

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Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice.

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I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.

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Doubtless criticism was originally benignant, pointing out the beauties of a work rather that its defects. The passions of men have made it malignant, as a bad heart of Procreates turned the bed, the symbol of repose, into an instrument of torture.

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How far the gulf-stream of our youth may flow Into the arctic regions of our lives, Where little else than life itself survives.

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Whenever nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit.

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

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Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame.

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Softly the evening came /with the sunset/.

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Some must follow and some command, through all are made oclay.

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Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

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It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar.

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I love thee, as the good love heaven.

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Love is a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more than animate faith and love, as flowers are the animate springtide.

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The tragic element in poetry is like Saturn in alchemy, the Malevolent, the Destroyer of Nature ; but without it no true Aurum Potabile, or Elixir of Life, can be made.

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Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger.

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The highest exercise of imagination is not to devise what has no existence, but rather to perceive what really exists, though unseen by the outward eye-not creation, but insight.

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Some poems are like the Centaurs--a mingling of man and beast, and begotten of Ixion on a cloud.

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When you ask one friend to dine, Give him your best wine! When you ask two, The second best will do!

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Oh, how beautiful is the summer night, which is not night, but a sunless, yet unclouded, day, descending upon earth with dews and shadows and refreshing coolness! How beautiful the long mild twilight, which, like a silver clasp, unites today with yesterday!

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