Henry Wadsworth Longfellow quotes - page 9

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend. (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

A noble type of good. Heroic womanhood.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When she was good, She was very good indeed, But when she was bad she was horrid.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There's nothing in this world so sweet as love, and next to love the sweetest thing is hate.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Pandora, waking: ... I am alone. These faces in the mirrors Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself; They cannot help nor hinder. No one sees me, Save the all-seeing Gods... She lifts the lid. A dense mist rises from the chest and fills the room. Pandora falls senseless on the floor. Storm without. Chorus of Dreams from the Gate of Horn: ... Fever of the heart and brain, Sorrow, pestilence, and pain, Moans of anguish, maniac laughter, All the evils that hereafter Shall afflict and vex mankind, All into the air have risen From the chambers of their prison; Only Hope remains behind.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This 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.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent language, Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes over-running with laughter, Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?"

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There is no greater sorrow Than to be mindful of the happy time In misery.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

It is the fate of a woman
Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless,
Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

The scholar and the world! The endless strife, The discord in the harmonies of life! The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books; The market-place, the eager love of gain, Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is pain!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Three Silences there are: the first of speech, The second of desire, the third of thought; This is the lore a Spanish monk, distraught With dreams and visions, was the first to teach.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Stronger than steel is the sword of the Spirit; Swifter than arrows, the light of the truth; Greater than anger is love that subdueth.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Moons waxed and waned, the lilacs bloomed and died, In the broad river ebbed and flowed the tide, Ships went to sea, and ships came home from sea, And the slow years sailed by and ceased to be.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Let him not boast who puts his armor on As he who puts it off, the battle done. Study yourselves; and most of all note well Wherein kind Nature meant you to excel. Not every blossom ripens into fruit.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When we reflect that all the aspects of Nature, all the emotions of the soul, and all the events of life, have been the subjects of poetry for hundreds and thousands of years, we can hardly wonder that there should be so many resemblances and coincidences of expression among poets, but rather that they are not more numerous and more striking.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

And now, my classmates; ye remaining few That number not the half of those we knew, Ye, against whose familiar names not yet The fatal asterisk of death is set, Ye I salute!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Stars of the summer night!
Far in yon azure deeps,
Hide, hide your golden light!
She sleeps!
My lady sleeps! (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

From the water-fall he named her, Minnehaha, Laughing Water.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart, When the full river of feeling overflows.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Image

Occupation: American Poet
Born: February 27, 1807
Died: March 24, 1882
Quotes count: 318
Wikipedia: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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