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Big words do not smite like war-clubs, Boastful breath is not a bow-string, Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, Deeds are better things than words are, Actions mightier than boastings.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
Novelist
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Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
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Longfellow
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Taunting
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, Life is checkered shade and sunshine.
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Live up to the best that is in you: Live noble lives, as you all may, in whatever condition you may find yourselves.
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I am the Angel of the Sun Whose flaming wheels began to run When God's almighty breath Said to the darkness and the Night, Let there be light! and there was light.
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Man is unjust, but God is just and finally justice triumphs.
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The sentence of the first murderer was pronounced by the Supreme Judge of the universe. Was it death? No, it was life. 'A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth' and 'Whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.
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Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay.
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Art is the gift of God, and must be used unto His glory.
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Build today, then strong and sure, With a firm and ample base And ascending and secure. Shall tomorrow find its place.
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And the bright faces of my young companions Are wrinkled like my own, or are no more.
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Gone are the birds that were our summer guests.
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For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build.
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In the mouths of many men soft words are like roses that soldiers put into the muzzles of their muskets on holidays.
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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.
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If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me? If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning!
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O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road!
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Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape Trinkling vapors arose and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.
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There is no death! What seems so is transition this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian, whose portal we call Death.
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The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.
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Out of the shadows of night The world rolls into light.
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The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright. The house is full of life and light.
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