Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

The soul never grows old.

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The Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.

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The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone. Shadows of evening fall around us, and the world seems but a dim reflection - itself a broader shadow. We look forward into the coming lonely night. The soul withdraws into itself. Then stars arise, and the night is holy.

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The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows wild and free, And like the wings of sea-birds Flash the white caps of the sea.

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God sifted a whole nation that he might send choice grain over into this wilderness.

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A thought often makes us hotter than a fire.

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The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead.

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Don Quixote thought he could have made beautiful bird-cages and toothpicks if his brain had not been so full of ideas of chivalry. Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.

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

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We often excuse our own want of philanthropy by giving the name of fanaticism to the more ardent zeal of others.

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Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east-wind was his breath.

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For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, In sombre harness mailed, Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, The rampart wall has scaled. He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, The dark and silent room, And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, The silence and the gloom.

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How like they are to human things!

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The Nile, forever new and old, Among the living and the dead, Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled.

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

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

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Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.

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There rises the moon, broad and tranquil, through the branches of a walnut tree on a hill opposite. I apostrophize it in the words of Faust; "O gentle moon, that lookest for the last time upon my agonies!" --or something to that effect.

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Among the noblest in the land - Though man may count himself the least - That man I honor and revere, Who without favor, without fear, In the great city dares to stand, The friend of every friendless beast.

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