Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

Today is the blocks with which we build.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another,Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.

Tomorrow is the mysterious unknown guest.

Noble souls through dust and heat rise from disaster and defeat the stronger.

The ceaseless rain is falling fast,And yonder gilded vane,Immovable for three days past,Points to the misty main,It drives me in upon myselfAnd to the fireside gleams,To pleasant books that crowd my shelf,And still more pleasant dreams,I read whatever bards have sungOf lands beyond the sea,And the bright days when I was youngCome thronging back to me.In fancy I can hear againThe Alpine torrent's roar,The mule-bells on the hills of Spain,The sea at Elsinore.I see the convent's gleaming wallRise from its groves of pine,And towers of old cathedrals tall,And castles by the Rhine.I journey on by park and spire,Beneath centennial trees,Through fields with poppies all on fire,And gleams of distant seas.I fear no more the dust and heat,No more I feel fatigue,While journeying with another's feetO'er many a lengthening league.Let others traverse sea and land,And toil through various climes,I turn the world round with my handReading these poets' rhymes.From them I learn whatever liesBeneath each changing zone,And see, when looking with their eyes,Better than with mine own.

This is the forest primeval.

The heights by men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight But they while their companions slept Were toiling upward in the night.

Silently one by one in the infinite meadows of heaven Blossomed the lovely stars the forget-me-nots of the angels.

Think not because no man sees such things will remain unseen.

Not in the clamor of the crowded street,Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng,But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.

Thy fate is the common fate of all Into each life some rain must fall Some days must be dark and dreary.

Be noble in every thought And in every deed!

Tell me not in mournful numbers,Life is but an empty dream!For the soul is dead that slumbers,And things are not what they seem.Life is real! Life is earnest!And the grave is not its goal;Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,Was not spoken of the soul.

All things come round to him who will but wait.

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

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime And departing leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.

Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not.

These are the woes of Slaves;They glare from the abyss;They cry, from unknown graves,"We are the Witnesses!

Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the flowers, Kind deeds are the fruits, Take care of your garden And keep out the weeds, Fill it with sunshine, Kind words, and Kind deeds.

Midnight! the outpost of advancing day!The frontier town and citadel of night!The watershed of Time, from which the streamsOf Yesterday and To-morrow take their way,One to the land of promise and of light,One to the land of darkness and of dreams!

Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.

The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained in sudden flight but, they while their companions slept, they were toiling upwards in the night.

How sublime a thing it is to suffer and be strong.

I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn so change of studies a dull brain.

We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.

Each morning sees some task begun Each evening sees it close. Something attempted something done Has earned a night's repose.

Ships that pass in the night.

For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.

Let us then be up and doing With a heart for any fate Still achieving still pursuing Learn to labor and to wait.

All things must change To something new to something strange.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;Behind the clouds is the sun still shining

Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter!

Thou too sail on O Shipof State! Sail on O Union strong and great! Humanity with all its fears With all the hopes of future years Is hanging breathless on thy fate!

O, never from the memory of my heartYour dear, paternal image shall depart,Who while on earth, ere yet by death surprised,Taught me how mortals are immortalized;How grateful am I for that patient careAll my life long my language shall declare.

In this world a man must either be anvil or hammer.

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.

Awake! arise! the hour is late! Angels are knocking at thy door!They are in haste and cannot wait, And once departed come no more.Awake! arise! the athlete's arm Loses its strength by too much rest;The fallow land, the untilled farm Produces only weeds at best.

The soul ... is audible not visible.

The Children's HourBetween the dark and the daylight,When the night is beginning to lower,Comes a pause in the day's occupations,That is known as the Children's Hour.I hear in the chamber above meThe patter of little feet,The sound of a door that is opened,And voices soft and sweet.From my study I see in the lamplight,Descending the broad hall stair,Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,And Edith with golden hair.A whisper, and then a silence:Yet I know by their merry eyesThey are plotting and planning togetherTo take me by surprise.A sudden rush from the stairway,A sudden raid from the hall!By three doors left unguardedThey enter my castle wall!They climb up into my turretO'er the arms and back of my chair;If I try to escape, they surround me;They seem to be everywhere.They almost devour me with kisses,Their arms about me entwine,Till I think of the Bishop of BingenIn his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!Do you think, o blue-eyed banditti,Because you have scaled the wall,Such an old mustache as I amIs not a match for you all!I have you fast in my fortress,And will not let you depart,But put you down into the dungeonIn the round-tower of my heart.And there will I keep you forever,Yes, forever and a day,Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,And moulder in dust away!

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old familiar carols play And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth good-will to men!

To say the least a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgement of others.

Tell me not in mournful numbers,Life is but an empty dream!For the soul is dead that slumbers,And things are not what they seem.

To persevere in one's duty and to be silent is the best answer to calumny.

Wisely the Hebrews admit no Present tense in their language;While we are speaking the word, it is is already the Past.

And oft the blessed time foretellsWhen all men shall be free;And musical, as silver bells,Their falling chains shall be.

Trust no future howe'er pleasant! Let the dead past bury its dead! Act - act in the living Present! Heart within and God o'erhead.

I have you fast in my fortress,And will not let you depart,But put you down into the dungeonIn the round-tower of my heart.And there will I keep you forever,Yes, forever and a day,Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,And moulder in dust away.

Not in the clamor of the crowded street Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng But in ourselves are triumph and defeat.

All that is best in the great poets of all countries is not what is national in them but what is universal.

Great is the art of beginning but greater is the art of ending.

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.

Unasked, Unsought, Love gives itself but is not bought

Came the Spring with all its splendor All its birds and all its blossoms All its flowers and leaves and grasses.

Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour.

As Unto the bow the the cord is ,So unto the man is woman;Though she bends him, she obeys him,Though she draws him , yet she follows:Useless each without the other.

Give what you have. To someone else it may be better than you dare to think.

Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.

Every arrow that flies feels the pull of the earth.