Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

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

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Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

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Be thy sleep Silent as night is, and as deep.

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The thoughts of Youth are long, long thoughts

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Who dares To say that he alone has found the truth?

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Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies.

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Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep, All things within its bosom sleep! A single step, and all is o'er, A plunge, a bubble, and no more.

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The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.

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It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes and roofs of villages, on woodland crests and their aerial neighborhoods of nests deserted, on the curtained window-panes of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes and harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests.

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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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Resolve and thou art free.

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Silence and solitude, the soul's best friends.

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Under the spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. . . . He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. . . . Toiling,-rejoicing,-sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.

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The sunshine fails, the shadows grow more dreary, And I am near to fall, infirm and weary.

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A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thought's of youth are long, long thoughhts

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How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and the heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain!

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So disasters come not singly; But as if they watched and waited, Scanning one another's motions, When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wiseRound their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish.

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No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

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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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With useless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain!

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