Quote

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

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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
Water
Golden
Softly
Together
Seemed
Magician
Like
Sky
Forest
Vapors
Western
Sunset
Mingled
Touch
Horizon
Melted
Sun
Forests
Vapor
Fire
Landscape
Arose
Came
Evening
Extended

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It takes less time to do a thing right, than it does to explain why you did it wrong.
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With useless endeavour Forever, forever, Is Sisyphus rolling His stone up the mountain!
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When we walk towards the sun of Truth, all shadows are cast behind us.
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Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the flowers, Kind deeds are the fruits, Take care of your garden And keep out the weeds, Fill it with sunshine, Kind words, and Kind deeds.
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Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, to some good angel leave the rest For Time will teach thee soon the truth, there are no birds in last year's nest!
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I love an author the more for having been himself a lover of books.
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Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings.
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This will be a great day in our history the date of a New Revolution - quite as much needed as the old one. Even now as I write they are leading old John Brown to execution in Virginia for attempting to rescue slaves! This is sowing the wind to reap the whirlwind which will come soon!
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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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I feel a kind of reverence for the first books of young authors. There is so much aspiration in them, so much audacious hope and trembling fear, so much of the heart's history, that all errors and shortcomings are for a while lost sight of in the amiable self assertion of youth.
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The world loves a spice of wickedness.
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Morality without religion is only a kind of dead reckoning - an endeavor to find our place on a cloudy sea by measuring the distance we have run, but without any observation of the heavenly bodies.
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It is curious to note the old sea-margins of human thought! Each subsiding century reveals some new mystery we build where monsters used to hide themselves.
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The trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, While underneath such leafy tents they keep The long, mysterious Exodus of Death.
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I love thee, as the good love heaven.
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Your silent tents of green We deck with fragrant flowers Yours has the suffering been, The memory shall be ours.
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Listen my children and you shall hear, Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere
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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.
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But the great Master said, I see No best in kind, but in degree I gave a various gift to each, To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.
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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.
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