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To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgment of others.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
Novelist
Poet
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Makes
Tolerant
Others
Liberal
Life
Tolerance
Town
Towns
Judgment
Cities
Least
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How like they are to human things!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies.
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
And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives.
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Autumn arrives like a warrior with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Look upon the errors of others in sorrow, not in anger.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Who dares To say that he alone has found the truth?
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands, Life hath snares! Care and age come unawares!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land, A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
See yonder fire! It is the moon slow rising o'er the eastern hill. It glimmers on the forest tips, and through the dewy foliage drips In little rivulets of light, and makes the heart in love with night.
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All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.
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The life of woman is full of woe, Toiling on and on and on, With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, The secret longings that arise, Which this world never satisfies! Some more, some less, but of the whole Not one quite happy, no, not one!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
You would attain to the divine perfection.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The surest pledge of a deathless name Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, and silently steal away.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Mine is the Month of Roses yes, and mine The Month of Marriages! All pleasant sights And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine, The foliage of the valleys and the heights. Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights The mower's scythe makes music to my ear I am the mother of all dear delights I am the fairest daughter of the year.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
O holy trust! O endless sense of rest! Like the beloved John To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, And thus to journey on!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
