Quotes from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old, their beards of icicles and snow.

Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.

Many critics are like woodpeckers, who, instead of enjoying the fruit and shadow of a tree, hop incessantly around the trunk, pecking holes in the bark to discover some little worm or other.

Each day is a branch of the Tree of Life laden heavily with fruit. If we lie down lazily beneath it, we may starve; but if we shake the branches, some of the fruit will fall for us.

Well I know the secret places, And the nests in hedge and tree; At what doors are friendly faces, In what hearts are thoughts of me.

Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it; the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves.

Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again.

Like black hulks the shadows of the great trees ride at anchor on the billowy sea of grass.

That tree is very old, but I never saw prettier blossoms on it than it now bears. That tree grows new wood each year. Like that apple tree, I try to grow a new little wood each year.

This is the forest primeval.

Trust no future, however pleasant! Let the dead past bury its dead! Act -- act in the living Present! Heart within and God overhead.

If we love one another, nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen.

If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning!

I love an author the more for having been himself a lover of books.

It is true, that it is not at all necessary to love many books, in order to love them much.

Ah, how skillful grows the hand That obeyeth Love's command! It is the heart, and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain, And he who followeth Love's behest Far excelleth all the rest!

A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thought's of youth are long, long thoughhts

The market-place, the eager love of gain, Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is pain!

Sang in tones of deep emotion Songs of love and songs of longing.

Something the heart must have to cherish, Must love and joy and sorrow learn; Something with passion clasp, or perish And in itself to ashes burn.

I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming of storms.

A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years mere study of books.

Who dares To say that he alone has found the truth?

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, to some good angel leave the rest; For Time will teach thee soon the truth, there are no birds in last year's nest!