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The first pressure of sorrow crushes out from our hearts the best wine afterwards the constant weight of it brings forth bitterness, the taste and stain from the lees of the vat.
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
Taste
Forth
Lees
Best
Brings
Vat
Firsts
Hearts
Crushes
First
Wine
Stain
Heart
Sorrow
Stains
Constant
Afterwards
Pressure
Bitterness
Weight
Crush
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All that is best in the great poets of all countries is not what is national in them, but what is universal.
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Silence and solitude, the soul's best friends.
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The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.
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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!
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Perhaps the greatest lesson which the lives of literary men teach us is told in a single word* Wait!
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Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts.
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Welcome, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside.
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Some critics are like chimney-sweepers they put out the fire below, and frighten the swallows from their nests above they scrape a long time in the chimney, cover themselves with soot, and bring nothing away but a bag of cinders, and then sing from the top of the house as if they had built it.
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Stars of earth, these golden flowers emblems of our own great resurrection emblems of the bright and better land.
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People demand freedom only when they have no power.
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Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, Life is checkered shade and sunshine.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The soul never grows old.
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Love gives itself it is not bought.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and the heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Only a look and a voice then darkness again and silence.
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