Quotes from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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

I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions

In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the Gods are everywhere

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)

Out of the shdows of night The world rolls into light.

I hear the wind among the trees playing the celestial symphonies.

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, our faith triumphant o'er our fears, are all with thee – are all with thee!

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

If thou art worn and hard beset, With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget; If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills! No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

Ah! What would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before.

To charm, to strengthen, and to teach: these are the three great chords of might.

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

Talk not of wasted affection - affection never was wasted.

The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well, and doing well whatever you do without thought of fame. If it comes at all it will come because it is deserved, not because it is sought after.

And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler,   Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.

The purpose of that apple tree is to grow a little new wood each year. That is what I plan to do.

If Spring came but once in a century, instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake, and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all hearts to behold the miraculous change! But now the silent succession suggests nothing but necessity. To most men only the cessation of the miracle would be miraculous and the perpetual exercise of God's power seems less wonderful than its withdrawal would be.

Straight between them ran the pathway, Never grew the grass upon it

Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, and in all things Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred professions of friendship. It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to declare it: I have liked to be with you, to see you, to speak with you always.

He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.

Joy, temperance, and repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose.

I feel a kind of reverence for the first books of young authors. There is so much aspiration in them, so much audacious hope and trembling fear, so much of the heart's history, that all errors and shortcomings are for a while lost sight of in the amiable self assertion of youth.

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

Thus thought I, as by night I read Of the great army of the dead, The trenches cold and damp, The starved and frozen camp,-- The wounded from the battle-plain, In dreary hospitals of pain, The cheerless corridors, The cold and stony floors. Lo! in that house of misery A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom And flit from room to room. And slow, as in a dream of bliss, The speechless sufferer turns to kiss Her shadow, as it falls Upon the darkening walls.