Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

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Ambition is so powerful a passion in the human breast, that however high we reach we are never satisfied.

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So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest.

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And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships.

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All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.

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Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate, Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

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The grave itself is but a covered bridge, Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness!

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My own thoughts Are my companions.

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Dreams or illusions, call them what you will, they lift us from the commonplace of life to better things.

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Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall

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Thinking the deed, and not the creed, Would help us in our utmost need.

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The market-place, the eager love of gain, Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is pain!

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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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Simplicity is the character of the spring of life, costliness becomes its autumn; but a neatness and purity, like that of the snow-drop or lily of the valley, is the peculiar fascination of beauty, to which it lends enchantment, and gives what amiability is to the mind.

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I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn.

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Let us be merciful as well as just.

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

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With useless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain!

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There are two angels that attend unseen Each one of us, and in great books record Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down The good ones, after every action closes His volume, and ascends with it to God. The other keeps his dreadful day-book open Till sunset, that we may repent; which doing, The record of the action fades away, And leaves a line of white across the page. Now if my act be good, as I believe it, It cannot be recalled. It is already Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accomplished. The rest is yours.

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The true poet is a friendly man. He takes to his arms even cold and inanimate things, and rejoices in his heart.

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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Heart Quotes , Men Quotes