Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.

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Truly, this world can go on without us, if we would but think so.

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A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.

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The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone. Shadows of evening fall around us, and the world seems but a dim reflection - itself a broader shadow. We look forward into the coming lonely night. The soul withdraws into itself. Then stars arise, and the night is holy.

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

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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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The everyday cares and duties, which men call drudgery, are the weights and counterpoises of the clock of time, giving its pendulum a true vibration and its hands a regular motion; and when they cease to hang upon its wheels, the pendulum no longer swings, the hands no longer move the clock stands still.

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Perhaps there lives some dreamy boy, untaught In schools, some graduate of the field or street, Who shall become a master of art, An admiral sailing the high seas of thought Fearless and first, and steering with his fleet For lands not yet laid down in any chart.

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One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.

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My designs and labors and aspirations are my only friends.

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Being all fashioned of the self-same dust, let us be merciful as well as just

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

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Day of the Lord, as all our days should be!

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The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.

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

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Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine.

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Buried was the bloody hatchet; Buried was the dreadful war-club; Buried were all warlike weapons, And the war-cry was forgotten. Then was peace among the nations.

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Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion.

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