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From dust thou art to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul.
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
Thou
Death
Art
Soul
Spoken
Dust
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
People of a lively imagination are generally curious, and always so when a little in love.
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Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing, As in a foundering ship.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Today is the blocks with which we build.
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All your strength in is your union. All your danger is in discord. Therefore be at peace henceforward, And as brothers live together.
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Hope has as many lives as a cat or a king.
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All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.
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Every man has a paradise around him till he sins, and the angel of an accusing conscience drives him from his Eden.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The happy should not insist too much upon their happiness in the presence of the unhappy.
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Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.
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Will without power is like children playing at soldiers.
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A town that boasts inhabitants like me Can have no lack of good society.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Kind messages, that pass from land to land Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, In which we feel the pressure of a hand,-- One touch of fire,--and all the rest is mystery!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Time has a doomsday book, upon whose pages he is continually recording illustrious names. But as often as a new name is written there, an old one disappears. Only a few stand in illuminated characters never to be effaced.
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The day is done and slowly from the scene the stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, and puts them back into his golden quiver!
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And in despair I bowed my head There is no peace on earth, I said For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men! Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: 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
Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into light.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape Trinkling vapors arose and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
