Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

Trouble is the next best thing to enjoyment. There is no fate in the world so horrible as to have no share in either its joys or sorrows.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Be noble in every thought And in every deed!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sculpture is more than painting. It is greater To raise the dead to life than to create Phantoms that seem to live.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Perseverance is a great element of success. If you knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The grave is but a covered bridge Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future, without fear, and with a manly heart.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Talk not of wasted affection; affection was never wasted.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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