There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.
Henry Wadsworth LongfellowThe Helicon of too many poets is not a hill crowned with sunshine and visited by the Muses and the Graces, but an old, mouldering house, full of gloom and haunted by ghosts.
Henry Wadsworth LongfellowA single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years mere study of books.
Henry Wadsworth LongfellowThis is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow