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Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
Novelist
Poet
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
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More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A boy's will is the wind's will.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Time rides with the old At a great pace. As travellers on swift steeds See the near landscape fly and flow behind them, While the remoter fields and dim horizons Go with them, and seem wheeling round to meet them, So in old age things near us slip away, And distant things go with us.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
God sent his Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth, That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to heaven again.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How can I teach your children gentleness and mercy to the weak, and reverence for life, which in its nakedness and excess, is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, when by your laws, your actions and your speech, you contradict the very things I teach?
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The life of a man consists not in seeing visions and in dreaming dreams, but in active charity and in willing service.
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
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Dead he is not, but departed, for the artist never dies.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In what a forge and what a heat were shaped the anchors of thy hope! Fear not each sudden sound and shock 'Tis of the wave and not the rock.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Silence is a great peacemaker.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The true poet is a friendly man. He takes to his arms even cold and inanimate things, and rejoices in his heart.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The world loves a spice of wickedness.
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
How like they are to human things!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming of storms.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A town that boasts inhabitants like me Can have no lack of good society.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
All things come round to him who will but wait.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Love gives itself it is not bought.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
