Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

The natural alone is permanent. Fantastic idols may be worshipped for a while; but at length they are overturned by the continual and silent progress of Truth, as the grim statues of Copan have been pushed from their pedestals by the growth of forest-trees, whose seeds were sown by the wind in the ruined walls.

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Youth wrenches the sceptre from old age, and sets the crown on its own head before it is entitled to it.

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Oh, how beautiful is the summer night, which is not night, but a sunless, yet unclouded, day, descending upon earth with dews and shadows and refreshing coolness! How beautiful the long mild twilight, which, like a silver clasp, unites today with yesterday!

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Let us be merciful as well as just.

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No action, whether foul or fair, Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere A record, written by fingers ghostly, As a blessing or a curse, and mostly In the greater weakness or greater strength Of the acts which follow it.

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Taste the joy That springs from labor.

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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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O ye dead Poets, who are living still Immortal in your verse, though life be fled, And ye, O living Poets, who are dead Though ye are living, if neglect can kill, Tell me if in the darkest hours of ill, With drops of anguish falling fast and red From the sharp crown of thorns upon your head, Ye were not glad your errand to fulfill?

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

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And when she was good she was very very good. But when she was bad she was horrid.

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Into a world unknown,-the corner-stone of a nation!

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Then from the neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen.

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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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Sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O Union, strong and great.

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A sermon is no sermon in which I cannot hear the heartbeat.

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

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Time is the life of the soul.

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The grave itself is but a covered bridge, Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness!

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And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters

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Nature is a revelation of God; Art a revelation of man.

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