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The greatest grace of a gift, perhaps, is that it anticipates and admits of no return.
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
Translator
Writer
Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Anticipate
Gift
Return
Perhaps
Grace
Greatest
Anticipates
Admits
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Stars of earth, these golden flowers emblems of our own great resurrection emblems of the bright and better land.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The happy should not insist too much upon their happiness in the presence of the unhappy.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Learn to labour and to wait.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A town that boasts inhabitants like me Can have no lack of good society.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
When thou are not pleased, beloved, Then my heart is sad and darkened, As the shining river darkens When the clouds drop shadows on it! When thou smilest, my beloved, Then my troubled heart is brightened, As in sunshine gleam the ripples That the cold wind makes in rivers.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In ourselves are triumph and defeat.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Ambition's cradle oftenest is its grave
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Life is the gift of God, and is divine.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Many a poem is marred by a superfluous verse.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In the mouths of many men soft words are like roses that soldiers put into the muzzles of their muskets on holidays.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
We are all architects of faith, ever living in these walls of time.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Be thy sleep Silent as night is, and as deep.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The student has his Rome, his Florence, his whole glowing Italy, within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world and the glories of a modern one.
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 country is lyric, the town dramatic. When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama.
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
No action, whether foul or fair, Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere A record, written by fingers ghostly, As a blessing or a curse, and mostly In the greater weakness or greater strength Of the acts which follow it.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
