Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice triumphs.

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Being all fashioned of the self-same dust, let us be merciful as well as just

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In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face the face of one long dead Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.

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The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf.

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The day is done; and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!

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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Twilight Quotes , Done Quotes

For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.

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Evil is only good perverted.

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Burn, O evening hearth, and waken Pleasant visions, as of old! Though the house by winds be shaken, Safe I keep this room of gold!

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Gone are the birds that were our summer guests.

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It is Lucifer, The son of mystery; And since God suffers him to be, He too, is God's minister, And labors for some good By us not understood.

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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Son Quotes , Suffering Quotes

I heard the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love.

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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Wall Quotes , Night Quotes

Truths that startled the generation in which they were first announced become in the next age the commonplaces of conversation; as the famous airs of operas which thrilled the first audiences come to be played on hand-organs in the streets.

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We are all architects of faith, ever living in these walls of time.

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The everyday cares and duties, which men call drudgery, are the weights and counterpoises of the clock of time, giving its pendulum a true vibration and its hands a regular motion; and when they cease to hang upon its wheels, the pendulum no longer swings, the hands no longer move the clock stands still.

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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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Dost thou know what a hero is? Why, a hero is as much as one should say, a hero.

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Build me straight. O worthy Master! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!

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The morrow was a bright September morn; The earth was beautiful as if newborn; There was nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air, Which makes the passers in the city street Congratulate each other as they meet.

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How like they are to human things!

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It is true, that it is not at all necessary to love many books, in order to love them much.

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