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The Devil hinders me. You know I say Just what I think, and nothing more nor less, And, when I pray, my heart is in my prayer. I cannot say one thing and mean another. If I can't pray, I will not make believe!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Nothing
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Sincerity
Heart
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Thing
Devil
Believe
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Think
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More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The sunshine fails, the shadows grow more dreary, And I am near to fall, infirm and weary.
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Much must he toil who serves the Immortal Gods.
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Weak minds make treaties with the passions they cannot overcome, and try to purchase happiness at the expense of principle but the resolute will of a strong man scorns such means, and struggles nobly with his foe to achieve great deeds.
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All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep.
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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.
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In the elder days of art Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part, For the Gods are everywhere
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Be thy sleep Silent as night is, and as deep.
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Into each life some rain must fall.
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By unseen hands uplifted in the light Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad, And wafted up to heaven.
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Dreams or illusions, call them what you will, they lift us from the commonplace of life to better things.
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'Tis always morning somewhere, and aboveThe awakening continents, from shore to shore,Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.
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Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, But the endeavor for the selfsame ends, With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations.
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They who go Feel not the pain of parting it is they Who stay behind that suffer.
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It is Lucifer, The son of mystery And since God suffers him to be, He too, is God's minister, And labors for some good By us not understood.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Music is the language spoken by angels.
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And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.
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Who dares To say that he alone has found the truth?
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Man is always more than he can know of himself consequently, his accomplishments, time and again, will come as a surprise to him.
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One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.
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Man is unjust, but God is just and finally justice triumphs.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
