Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

A noble type of good. Heroic womanhood.

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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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Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings - as some savage tribes determine the power of muskets by their recoil; that being considered best which fairly prostrates the purchaser.

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The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed.

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The nearer the dawn the darker the night.

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To be left alone, and face to face with my own crime, had been just retribution.

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But ah! what once has been shall be no more! The groaning earth in travail and in pain Brings forth its races, but does not restore, And the dead nations never rise again.

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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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Welcome, Disappointment! Thy hand is cold and hard, but it is the hand of a friend. Thy voice is stern and harsh, but it is the voice of a friend. Oh, there is something sublime in calm endurance, something sublime in the resolute, fixed purpose of suffering without complaining, which makes disappointment oftentimes better than success!

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Sail on ship of state, sail on, I union, strong and great! Humanity with all its fears, with all its hopes of future years, is hanging on thy fate!

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The twilight that surrounds the border-land of old romance.

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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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Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai.

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Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher.

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The hearts of some women tremble like leaves at every breath of love which reaches them, and they are still again. Others, like the ocean, are moved only by the breath of a storm, and not so easily lulled to rest.

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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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The country is lyric, the town dramatic. When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama.

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A town that boasts inhabitants like me Can have no lack of good society.

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My Book and Heart Shall never part.

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Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us.

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