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Age is opportunity no less than youth itself.
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
Age
Less
Opportunity
Fades
Twilight
Birthday
Aging
Invisible
Youth
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into light.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The greatest grace of a gift, perhaps, is that it anticipates and admits of no return.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tomorrow is the mysterious, unknown guest.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and the heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face the face of one long dead Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A spirit of criticism, if indulged in, leads to a censoriousness of disposition that is destructive of all nobler feeling. The man who lives to find faults has a miserable mission.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Feeling is deep and still and the word that floats on the surface Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The air of summer was sweeter than wine.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Each morning sees some task begin, each evening sees it close.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
God is not dead nor doth He sleep ... The wrong shall fail, The right prevail, With peace on earth, good will to men.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Mine is the Month of Roses yes, and mine The Month of Marriages! All pleasant sights And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine, The foliage of the valleys and the heights. Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights The mower's scythe makes music to my ear I am the mother of all dear delights I am the fairest daughter of the year.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, In sombre harness mailed, Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, The rampart wall has scaled. He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, The dark and silent room, And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, The silence and the gloom.
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
More hearts are breaking in this world of ours Than one would say. In distant villages And solitudes remote, where winds have wafted The barbed seeds of love, or birds of passage Scattered them in their flight, do they take root, And grow in silence, and in silence perish.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
