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None but yourself who are your greatest foe.
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
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Foe
None
Greatest
Enemy
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Many people do not allow their principles to take root, but pull them up every now and then, as children do the flowers they have planted, to see if they are growing.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Music is the universal language of mankind.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The soul...is audible, not visible.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
So disasters come not singly But as if they watched and waited, Scanning one another's motions, When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wiseRound their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
For it is the fate of a woman Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers Runnng through caverns of darkness.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colorless when unbroken.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Death is the chillness that precedes the dawn We shudder for a moment, then awake In the broad sunshine of the other life.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A millstone and the human heart are driven ever round, If they have nothing else to grind, they must themselves be ground.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Fair words gladden so many a heart.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
These stars of earth, these golden flowers.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The air is full of farewells to the dying. And mournings for the dead.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming of storms.
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
It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes and roofs of villages, on woodland crests and their aerial neighborhoods of nests deserted, on the curtained window-panes of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes and harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The happy should not insist too much upon their happiness in the presence of the unhappy.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
