Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

All that is best in the great poets of all countries is not what is national in them, but what is universal.

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You would attain to the divine perfection.

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

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O beautiful, awful summer day, what hast thou given, what taken away?

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O holy trust! O endless sense of rest! Like the beloved John To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, And thus to journey on!

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Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing, As in a foundering ship.

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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Life Quotes , Self Quotes

What seems to us but dim funeral tapers may be heaven's distant lamps.

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With many readers, brilliancy of style passes for affluence of thought; they mistake buttercups in the grass for immeasurable gold mines under ground.

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He that respects himself is safe from others. He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce.

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Much must he toil who serves the Immortal Gods.

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Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But never will be sung to us again, Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best.

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O, though oft oppressed and lonely, All my fears are laid aside, If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died!

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A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood.

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But the good deed, through the ages Living in historic pages, Brighter grows and gleams immortal, Unconsumed by moth or rust.

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Give what you have. To some one, it may be better than you dare to think.

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The strength of criticism lies in the weakness of the thing criticized.

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Your silent tents of green We deck with fragrant flowers; Yours has the suffering been, The memory shall be ours.

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Mine is the Month of Roses; yes, and mine The Month of Marriages! All pleasant sights And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine, The foliage of the valleys and the heights. Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights; The mower's scythe makes music to my ear; I am the mother of all dear delights; I am the fairest daughter of the year.

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Midnight! the outpost of advancing day! The frontier town and citadel of night!

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Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.

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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Life Quotes , Death Quotes