Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

The secret studies of an author are the sunken piers upon which is to rest the bridge of his fame, spanning the dark waters of oblivion. They are out of sight, but without them no superstructure can stand secure.

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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Dark Quotes , Sight Quotes

O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load; I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road!

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Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse.

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It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves.

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That was the first sound in the song of love! Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound. Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings Of that mysterious instrument, the soul, And play the prelude of our fate. We hear The voice prophetic, and are not alone.

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Will without power is like children playing at soldiers.

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Death is better than disease.

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For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter Of the Eternal's language; - on earth it is called Forgiveness!

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There is no death! What seems so is transition; this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian, whose portal we call Death.

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It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes and roofs of villages, on woodland crests and their aerial neighborhoods of nests deserted, on the curtained window-panes of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes and harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests.

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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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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Beautiful Quotes , Air Quotes

In December ring Every day the chimes; Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire!

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The prayer of Ajax was for light.

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

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Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts.

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Something the heart must have to cherish, Must love and joy and sorrow learn; Something with passion clasp, or perish And in itself to ashes burn.

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I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

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Give what you have. To some one, it may be better than you dare to think.

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Joy, temperance, and repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose.

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