Quote

More hearts are breaking in this world of ours Than one would say. In distant villages And solitudes remote, where winds have wafted The barbed seeds of love, or birds of passage Scattered them in their flight, do they take root, And grow in silence, and in silence perish.

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
World
Wind
Village
Perish
Grow
Birds
Remote
Silence
Flight
Passage
Grows
Seeds
Winds
Solitudes
Take
Solitude
Passages
Wafted
Heart
Roots
Distant
Barbed
Would
Hearts
Root
Villages
Love
Bird
Breaking
Scattered

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I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn.
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Art is the child of Nature.
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As the heart is, so is love to the heart. It partakes of its strength or weakness, its health or disease.
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I will be a man among men and no longer a dreamer among shadows. Henceforth be mine a life of action and reality! I will work in my own sphere, nor wish it other than it is. This alone is health and happiness.
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The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.
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Great men stand like solitary towers in the city of God.
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In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face the face of one long dead Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
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With many readers, brilliancy of style passes for affluence of thought they mistake buttercups in the grass for immeasurable gold mines under ground.
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Ambition's cradle oftenest is its grave
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The country is lyric, the town dramatic. When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama.
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Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.
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The sunshine fails, the shadows grow more dreary, And I am near to fall, infirm and weary.
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