Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings.

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The soul never grows old.

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Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it; the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves.

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Nothing that is can pause or stay.

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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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Fortune comes well to all that comes not late.

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Do not delay, Do not delay: the golden moments fly!

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More and more do I feel, as I advance in life, how little we really know of each other. Friendship seems to me like the touch of musical-glasses--it is only contact; but the glasses themselves, and their contents, remain quite distinct and unmingled.

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All nature ... is a respiration Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing hereafter Will inhale it into his bosom again, So that nothing but God alone will remain.

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No literature is complete until the language it was written in is dead.

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Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows.

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

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When Christ ascended Triumphantly from star to star He left the gates of Heaven ajar.

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To be strong is to be happy!

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As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.

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Even He that died for us upon the cross, in the last hour, in the unutterable agony of death, was mindful of His mother, as if to teach us that this holy love should be our last worldly thought - the last point of earth from which the soul should take its flight for heaven.

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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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How absolute and omnipotent is the silence of night! And yet the stillness seems almost audible! From all the measureless depths of air around us comes a half-sound, a half-whisper, as if we could hear the crumbling and falling away of earth and all created things, in the great miracle of nature, decay and reproduction, ever beginning, never ending,--the gradual lapse and running of the sand in the great hour-glass of Time.

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All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep.

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The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books.

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