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The country is not priest-ridded, but press-ridden.
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
Ridden
Priest
Priests
Presses
Press
Country
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It is Lucifer, The son of mystery And since God suffers him to be, He too, is God's minister, And labors for some good By us not understood.
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As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.
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Nature is a revelation of God Art a revelation of man.
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Then read from the treasured volume the poem of thy choice, and lend to the rhyme of the poet the beauty of thy voice.
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Youth comes but once in a lifetime.
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Nature paints not In oils, but frescoes the great dome of heaven With sunsets, and the lovely forms of clouds And flying vapors.
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Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!
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Silence is a great peacemaker.
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All your strength is in union, all your danger is in discord.
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Be thy sleep Silent as night is, and as deep.
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Where'er a noble deed is wrought, Where'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise.
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O Music! language of the soul, Of love, of God to man Bright beam from heaven thrilling, That lightens sorrow's weight.
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Some poems are like the Centaurs--a mingling of man and beast, and begotten of Ixion on a cloud.
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Tomorrow is the mysterious, unknown guest.
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Today is the blocks with which we build.
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Art is the gift of God, and must be used unto His glory.
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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.
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Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.
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The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
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They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow