Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes
Stronger than steel is the sword of the Spirit;
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Swifter than arrows, the light of the truth..
(Tales of a Wayside Inn, 1863 - 1874)
Youth comes but once in a lifetime.
Love gives itself, but is not bought.
The human voice is the organ of the soul.
Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak.
Music is the universal language of mankind.
All things come round to him who will but wait.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
In this world a man must either be anvil or hammer.
Great is the art of beginning, but greater the art is of ending.
The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.
All things must change to something new, to something strange.
Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.
Thy fate is the common fate of all;
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us.
For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain.
For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art.
In character, in manner, in style, in all things, the supreme excellence is simplicity.
It takes less time to do a thing right than it does to explain why you did it wrong.
As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.
He that respects himself is safe from others. He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce.
Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.
The happy should not insist too much upon their happiness in the presence of the unhappy.
In old age our bodies are worn-out instruments, on which the soul tries in vain to play the melodies of youth. But because the instrument has lost its strings, or is out of tune, it does not follow that the musician has lost his skill.
Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.
A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years mere study of books.
Every man is in some sort a failure to himself. No one ever reaches the heights to which he aspires.
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.
Time has laid his hand
Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it,
But as a harper lays his open palm
Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.
