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The atmosphere breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers seem full of welcomes.
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
Comfort
Seem
Welcomes
Rest
Chambers
Full
Breathes
Seems
Hospitality
Many
Chamber
Atmosphere
Breathe
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
He that respects himself is safe from others. He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A solid man of Boston A comfortable man with dividends, And the first salmon and the first green peas.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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
For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, In sombre harness mailed, Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, The rampart wall has scaled. He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, The dark and silent room, And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, The silence and the gloom.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In ourselves are triumph and defeat.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The emigrant's way o'er the western desert is mark'd by Camp-fires long consum'd and bones that bleach in the sunshine.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
God sifted a whole nation that he might send choice grain over into this wilderness.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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
One half the world must sweat and groan that the other half may dream.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In December ring Every day the chimes Loud the gleemen sing In the streets their merry rhymes. Let us by the fire Ever higher Sing them till the night expire!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The moon is hidden behind a cloud... On the leaves is a sound of falling rain... No other sounds than these I hear The hour of midnight must be near... So many ghosts, and forms of fright, Have started from their graves to-night, They have driven sleep from mine eyes away: I will go down to the chapel and pray.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
With many readers, brilliancy of style passes for affluence of thought they mistake buttercups in the grass for immeasurable gold mines under ground.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The motives and purposes of authors are not always so pure and high, as, in the enthusiasm of youth, we sometimes imagine. To many the trumpet of fame is nothing but a tin horn to call them home, like laborers from, the field, at dinner-time, and they think themselves lucky to get the dinner.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A man must be of a very quiet and happy nature, who can long endure the country and, moreover, very well contented with his own insignificant person.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The happy should not insist too much upon their happiness in the presence of the unhappy.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Art is the child of Nature yes, Her darling child, in whom we trace The features of the mother's face, Her aspect and her attitude, All her majestic loveliness Chastened and softened and subdued Into a more attractive grace, And with a human sense imbued. He is the greatest artist, then, Whether of pencil or of pen, Who follows Nature.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
They who go Feel not the pain of parting it is they Who stay behind that suffer.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
