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How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight!
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
Silent
Starless
Hand
Midnight
Morning
Twilight
Hours
Beneath
Beautiful
Evening
Hands
Thus
Together
Sky
Hour
More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending.
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It is the heart and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain.
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It is difficult to know at what moment love begins it is less difficult to know that it has begun.
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Authors have a greater right than any copyright, though it is generally unacknowledged or disregarded. They have a right to the reader's civility. There are favorable hours for reading a book, as for writing it, and to these the author has a claim. Yet many people think that when they buy a book they buy with it the right to abuse the author.
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The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed.
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All things are symbols.
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Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us.
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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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My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me.
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The great tragedy of the average man is that he goes to his grave with his music still in him.
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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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The trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, While underneath such leafy tents they keep The long, mysterious Exodus of Death.
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I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn.
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The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do, well.
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It has done me good to be somewhat parched by the heat and drenched by the rain of life.
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Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tis always morning somewhere.
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The mind of the scholar, if he would leave it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds.
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When we walk towards the sun of Truth, all shadows are cast behind us.
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Something the heart must have to cherish, Must love and joy and sorrow learn Something with passion clasp, or perish And in itself to ashes burn.
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