Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

Build me straight. O worthy Master! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!

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There is nothing perfectly secure but poverty.

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Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood.

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Some poems are like the Centaurs--a mingling of man and beast, and begotten of Ixion on a cloud.

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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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A man must be of a very quiet and happy nature, who can long endure the country; and, moreover, very well contented with his own insignificant person.

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O lovely river of Yvette! O darling river! like a bride, Some dimpled, bashful, fair Lisette Thou goest to wed the Orge's tide. O lovely river Yvette! O darling stream! on balanced wings The wood-birds sang the chansonnette That here a wandering poet sings.

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There are favorable hours for reading a book, as for writing it.

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To be strong is to be happy!

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It is Lucifer, The son of mystery; And since God suffers him to be, He too, is God's minister, And labors for some good By us not understood.

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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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With many readers, brilliancy of style passes for affluence of thought; they mistake buttercups in the grass for immeasurable gold mines under ground.

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O thou sculptor, painter, poet! Take this lesson to thy heart: That is best which lieth nearest; Shape from that thy work of art.

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Tomorrow is the mysterious, unknown guest.

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Live up to the best that is in you: Live noble lives, as you all may, in whatever condition you may find yourselves.

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I will be a man among men; and no longer a dreamer among shadows.

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Each morning sees some task begin, each evening sees it close.

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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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None but yourself who are your greatest foe.

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

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