Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

For it is the fate of a woman Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers Runnng through caverns of darkness.

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Tags : Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes , Fate Quotes , Voice Quotes

By the shore of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wigwam, In the pleasant Summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited.

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Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter!

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Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry.

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The moon is hidden behind a cloud... On the leaves is a sound of falling rain... No other sounds than these I hear; The hour of midnight must be near... So many ghosts, and forms of fright, Have started from their graves to-night, They have driven sleep from mine eyes away: I will go down to the chapel and pray.

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Resolve and thou art free.

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If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me? If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning!

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

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The morrow was a bright September morn; The earth was beautiful as if newborn; There was nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air, Which makes the passers in the city street Congratulate each other as they meet.

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It was a high counsel that I once heard given to a young person, - always do what you are afraid to do.

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Perhaps the greatest lesson which the lives of literary men teach us is told in a single word* Wait!

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For bells are the voice of the church; They have tones that touch and search The hearts of young and old.

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No literature is complete until the language it was written in is dead.

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It is autumn; not without But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that have grown old.

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Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!

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Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows.

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Ah, the souls of those that die Are but sunbeams lifted higher.

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Labor with what zeal we will, Something still remains undone, Something uncompleted still Waits the rising of the sun.

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How wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the organ of the soul. The intellect of man is enthroned visibly on his forehead and in his eye, and the heart of man is written on his countenance, but the soul, the soul reveals itself in the voice only.

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The nearer the dawn the darker the night.

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