Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

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

I love an author the more for having been himself a lover of books.

The sentence of the first murderer was pronounced by the Supreme Judge of the universe. Was it death? No, it was life. 'A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth'; and 'Whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.

To be infatuated with the power of one's own intellect is an accident which seldom happens but to those who are remarkable for the want of intellectual power. Whenever Nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit.

It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves.

Simplicity in character, in manners, in style; in all things the supreme excellence is simplicity.

Good-night! good-night! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thou hast but taken up thy lamp and gone to bed; I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn.

They who go Feel not the pain of parting; it is they Who stay behind that suffer.

This is the place. Stand still, my steed,- Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy past The forms that once have been.

Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise.

The nearer the dawn the darker the night.

Make not thyself the judge of any man.

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.

In December ring Every day the chimes; Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire!

Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Yes, into Life's deep stream! All forms of sorrow and delight, All solemn Voices of the Night, That can soothe thee, or affright, - Be these henceforth thy theme. (excerpt from "Voices of the Night")

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

Take them, O Death! and bear away Whatever thou canst call thine own! Thine image, stamped upon this clay, Doth give thee that, but that alone!

Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.

Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies.

If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

The human voice is the organ of the soul.

There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.

O suffering, sad humanity! O ye afflicted ones, who lie Steeped to the lips in misery, Longing, yet afraid to die, Patient, though sorely tried!

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!

The Laws of Nature are just, but terrible. There is no weak mercy in them. Cause and consequence are inseparable and inevitable. The elements have no forbearance. The fire burns, the water drowns, the air consumes, the earth buries. And perhaps it would be well for our race if the punishment of crimes against the Laws of Man were as inevitable as the punishment of crimes against the Laws of Nature -were Man as unerring in his judgments as Nature.

The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart.

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

However things may seem, no evil thing is success and no good thing is failure.

If the mind, that rules the body, ever so far forgets itself as to trample on its slave, the slave is never generous enough to forgive the injury, but will rise and smite the oppressor.

Like black hulks the shadows of the great trees ride at anchor on the billowy sea of grass.

Ah, to build, to build! That is the noblest of all the arts.

As the heart is, so is love to the heart. It partakes of its strength or weakness, its health or disease.

How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight!

The true poet is a friendly man. He takes to his arms even cold and inanimate things, and rejoices in his heart.

All was silent as before - All silent save the dripping rain.

Nothing that is can pause or stay.

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

Autumn arrives like a warrior with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor.

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

Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry.

Under a 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.

The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books.

For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art.

Weak minds make treaties with the passions they cannot overcome, and try to purchase happiness at the expense of principle; but the resolute will of a strong man scorns such means, and struggles nobly with his foe to achieve great deeds.

Don Quixote thought he could have made beautiful bird-cages and toothpicks if his brain had not been so full of ideas of chivalry. Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.

So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest.

Among the noblest in the land - Though man may count himself the least - That man I honor and revere, Who without favor, without fear, In the great city dares to stand, The friend of every friendless beast.

Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings - as some savage tribes determine the power of muskets by their recoil; that being considered best which fairly prostrates the purchaser.