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Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
Novelist
Poet
Professor
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Defeat
Noble
Stronger
Soul
Heat
Disaster
Dust
Souls
Rise
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests.
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None but yourself who are your greatest foe.
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.
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The spirit-world around this world of sense Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere Wafts through these earthly mists and vapours dense A vital breath of more ethereal air.
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Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion.
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Talk not of wasted affection - affection never was wasted.
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In December ring Every day the chimes Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it. I stand in awe of my own opinion. The secret demerits of which we alone, perhaps, are conscious, are often more difficult to bear than those which have been publicly censured in us, and thus in some degree atoned for.
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The day is dark and cold and dreary it rains, and the wind is never weary.
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The atmosphere breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers seem full of welcomes.
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Much must he toil who serves the Immortal Gods.
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There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.
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If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.
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I love thee, as the good love heaven.
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The happy should not insist too much upon their happiness in the presence of the unhappy.
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Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined Often in a wooden house a golden room we find.
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Silence is a great peacemaker.
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A handful of red sand from the hot clime Of Arab deserts brought, Within this glass becomes the spy of Time, The minister of Thought.
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There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.
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The market-place, the eager love of gain, Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is pain!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow