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Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.
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
Nothing
Heart
Till
Cease
Tired
Late
Shall
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He looks the whole world in the face for he owes not any man.
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Death is the chillness that precedes the dawn We shudder for a moment, then awake In the broad sunshine of the other life.
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No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
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I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions
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Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend.
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And the bright faces of my young companions Are wrinkled like my own, or are no more.
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The Mormons make the marriage ring, like the ring of Saturn, fluid, not solid, and keep it in its place by numerous satellites.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The surest pledge of a deathless name Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken.
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I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon, In the round-tower of my heart, And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in the dust away!
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Perhaps the greatest lesson which the lives of literary men teach us is told in a single word* Wait!
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Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.
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Every author has the whole past to contend with all the centuries are upon him. He is compared with Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton.
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All things are symbols.
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Write on your doors the saying wise and old, Be bold! be bold! and everywhere - Be bold Be not too bold! Yet better the excess Than the defect better the more than less Better like Hector in the field to die, Than like a perfumed Paris turn and fly.
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An enlightened mind is not hoodwinked it is not shut up in a gloomy prison till it thinks the walls of its dungeon the limits of the universe, and the reach of its own chain the outer verge of intelligence.
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Live up to the best that is in you: Live noble lives, as you all may, in whatever condition you may find yourselves.
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Then followed that beautiful season... Summer.... Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
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Good-night! good-night! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thou hast but taken up thy lamp and gone to bed I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Nothing useless is, or low Each thing in its place is best And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There's not a ship that sails the ocean, But every climate, every soil, Must bring its tribute, great or small, And help to build the wooden wall!
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