Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

The shadows of the mind are like those of the body. In the morning of life they all lie behind us; at noon we trample them under foot; and in the evening they stretch long, broad, and deepening before us.

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Evil is only good perverted.

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What child has a heart to sing in this capricious clime of ours, when spring comes sailing in from the sea, with wet and heavy cloud-sails and the misty pennon of the east-wind nailed to the mast.

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The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.

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The atmosphere breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers seem full of welcomes.

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

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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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Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang with many a change, Christmas carols until morn.

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Love is the root of creation; God's essence; worlds without number Lie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only. Only to love and to be loved again.

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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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I saw the long line of the vacant shore, The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand, And the brown rocks left bare on every hand, As if the ebbing tide would flow no more.

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The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls; The day returns, but nevermore Returns the traveler to the shore, And the tide rises, the tide falls.

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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Time Quotes , Morning Quotes

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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The star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed.

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See yonder fire! It is the moon slow rising o'er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips, and through the dewy foliage drips In little rivulets of light, and makes the heart in love with night.

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In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take the great world in our arms and kiss it. Then come the gloomy hours, when the fire will neither burn on our hearths nor in our hearts; and all without and within is dismal, cold, and dark. Believe me, every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad.

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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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Simplicity in character, in manners, in style; in all things the supreme excellence is simplicity.

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Sang in tones of deep emotion Songs of love and songs of longing.

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The soul...is audible, not visible.

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