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A word that has been said may be unsaid-it is but air. But when a deed is done, it cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow.

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
Cannot
Deed
May
Deeds
Done
Reach
Air
Follow
Mischiefs
Thoughts
Unsaid
Hurt
Undone
Word
Mischief

More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
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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
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How wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the organ of the soul. The intellect of man is enthroned visibly on his forehead and in his eye, and the heart of man is written on his countenance, but the soul, the soul reveals itself in the voice only.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The morrow was a bright September morn The earth was beautiful as if newborn There was nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air, Which makes the passers in the city street Congratulate each other as they meet.
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My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea
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I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it.
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Perseverance is a great element of success. If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody.
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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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In ourselves are triumph and defeat.
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'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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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
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O little souls! as pure as white And crystalline as rays of light Direct from heaven, their source divine Refracted through the mist of years, How red my setting sun appears, How lurid looks this soul of mine!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Even He that died for us upon the cross, in the last hour, in the unutterable agony of death, was mindful of His mother, as if to teach us that this holy love should be our last worldly thought - the last point of earth from which the soul should take its flight for heaven.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter Of the Eternal's language - on earth it is called Forgiveness!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art.
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If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me? If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning!
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Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering vapors Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending from Sinai.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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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
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Love is a bodily shape and Christian works are no more than animate faith and love, as flowers are the animate springtide.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow