Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun.

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Day of the Lord, as all our days should be!

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We have not wings we cannot soar; but, we have feet to scale and climb, by slow degrees, by more and more, the cloudy summits of our time.

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Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

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There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.

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As Unto the bow the the cord is , So unto the man is woman; Though she bends him, she obeys him, Though she draws him , yet she follows: Useless each without the other.

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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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Whatever hath been written shall remain, Nor be erased nor written o'er again; The unwritten only still belongs to thee: Take heed, and ponder well what that shall be.

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It is the heart and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain.

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Art is the child of Nature.

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I do not believe anyone can be perfectly well, who has a brain and a heart

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From dust thou art to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul.

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The world loves a spice of wickedness.

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Sculpture is more than painting. It is greater To raise the dead to life than to create Phantoms that seem to live.

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Every man has his secret sorrows.

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Welcome, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside.

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Live up to the best that is in you: Live noble lives, as you all may, in whatever condition you may find yourselves.

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The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.

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It is curious to note the old sea-margins of human thought! Each subsiding century reveals some new mystery; we build where monsters used to hide themselves.

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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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