Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

God sifted a whole nation that he might send choice grain over into this wilderness.

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Perhaps the chief cause which has retarded the progress of poetry in America, is the want of that exclusive cultivation, which so noble a branch of literature would seem to require. Few here think of relying upon the exertion of poetic talent for a livelihood, and of making literature the profession of life. The bar or the pulpit claims the greater part of the scholar's existence, and poetry is made its pastime.

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Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet!

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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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If we love one another, nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen.

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Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley stretching for miles below Is white with blossoming cherry-trees, as if just covered with lighted snow.

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Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape; Trinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.

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The Devil hinders me. You know I say Just what I think, and nothing more nor less, And, when I pray, my heart is in my prayer. I cannot say one thing and mean another. If I can't pray, I will not make believe!

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A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child.

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Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain.

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It is folly to pretend that one ever wholly recovers from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar. There are faces I can never look upon without emotion, there are names I can never hear spoken without almost starting.

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Wondrous strong are the spells of fiction.

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I venerate old age; and I love not the man who can look without emotion upon the sunset of life, when the dusk of evening begins to gather over the watery eye, and the shadows of twilight grow broader and deeper upon the understanding.

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

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Even cities have their graves!

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Talk not of wasted affection - affection never was wasted.

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

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Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.

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Is this is a dream? O, if it be a dream, Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet!

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Death is the chillness that precedes the dawn; We shudder for a moment, then awake In the broad sunshine of the other life.

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