Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

Look upon the errors of others in sorrow, not in anger.

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They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly, Spake with us on earth no more!

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Day of the Lord, as all our days should be!

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By unseen hands uplifted in the light Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad, And wafted up to heaven.

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Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending.

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Success is not something to wait for, it is something to work for.

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Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others.

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Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again.

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Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter!

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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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That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

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Bell, thou soundest merrily, When the bridal party To the church doth hie! Bell, thou soundest solemnly, When, on Sabbath morning, Fields deserted lie!

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Art is the child of Nature.

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Where should the scholar live? In solitude, or in society? in the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the heart of Nature beat, or in the dark, gray town where he can hear and feel the throbbing heart of man?

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Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into light.

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The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart, When the full river of feeling overflows;- The happy days unclouded to their close; The sudden joys that our of darkness start As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!

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Weak minds make treaties with the passions they cannot overcome, and try to purchase happiness at the expense of principle; but the resolute will of a strong man scorns such means, and struggles nobly with his foe to achieve great deeds.

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And the bright faces of my young companions Are wrinkled like my own, or are no more.

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That tree is very old, but I never saw prettier blossoms on it than it now bears. That tree grows new wood each year. Like that apple tree, I try to grow a new little wood each year.

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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.

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