Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

O gift of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but play; Whereon it is enough for me, Not to be doing, but to be!

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No man is so poor as to have nothing worth giving.

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Books are sepulchres of thought.

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In youth all doors open outward; in old age all open inward.

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Dost thou know what a hero is? Why, a hero is as much as one should say, a hero.

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My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me.

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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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Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.

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Kind messages, that pass from land to land; Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, In which we feel the pressure of a hand,-- One touch of fire,--and all the rest is mystery!

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The country is not priest-ridded, but press-ridden.

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And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.

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Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest.

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The history of the past is a mere puppet-show. A little man comes out and blows a little trumpet, and goes in again. You look for something new, and lo! another little man comes out, and blows another little trumpet, and goes in again. And it is all over.

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That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

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Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from the meadow, See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as the magnet; This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has planted Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's journey. Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert, Such in the soul of man is faith.

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Weak minds make treaties with the passions they cannot overcome, and try to purchase happiness at the expense of principle; but the resolute will of a strong man scorns such means, and struggles nobly with his foe to achieve great deeds.

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Through woods and mountain passes The winds, like anthems, roll.

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

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Alas! it is not till time, with reckless hand, has torn out half the leaves from the Book of Human Life to light the fires of passion with from day to day, that man begins to see that the leaves which remain are few in number.

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Tomorrow is the mysterious, unknown guest.

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