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The foods that prolong life and increase purity, vigour, health, cheerfulness, and happiness are those that are delicious, soothing, substantial and agreeable... Foods that are bitter, sour, salt, over-hot, pungent, dry and burning produce unhappiness, repentance and disease.

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
Increase
Repentance
Vigour
Disease
Dry
Agreeable
Produce
Unhappiness
Soothing
Health
Salt
Substantial
Happiness
Purity
Cheerfulness
Life
Hot
Sour
Burning
Foods
Pungent
Bitter
Delicious
Prolong

More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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I feel a kind of reverence for the first books of young authors. There is so much aspiration in them, so much audacious hope and trembling fear, so much of the heart's history, that all errors and shortcomings are for a while lost sight of in the amiable self assertion of youth.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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All that is best in the great poets of all countries is not what is national in them, but what is universal.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Some critics are like chimney-sweepers they put out the fire below, and frighten the swallows from their nests above they scrape a long time in the chimney, cover themselves with soot, and bring nothing away but a bag of cinders, and then sing from the top of the house as if they had built it.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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If spring came but once a century instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all the hearts to behold the miraculous change.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Mine is the Month of Roses yes, and mine The Month of Marriages! All pleasant sights And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine, The foliage of the valleys and the heights. Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights The mower's scythe makes music to my ear I am the mother of all dear delights I am the fairest daughter of the year.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The life of woman is full of woe, Toiling on and on and on, With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, The secret longings that arise, Which this world never satisfies! Some more, some less, but of the whole Not one quite happy, no, not one!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The true poet is a friendly man. He takes to his arms even cold and inanimate things, and rejoices in his heart.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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And in despair I bowed my head There is no peace on earth, I said For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men! Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: God is not dead, nor doth he sleep! The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The soul never grows old.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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What seems to us but dim funeral tapers may be heaven's distant lamps.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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People of a lively imagination are generally curious, and always so when a little in love.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The atmosphere breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers seem full of welcomes.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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To be seventy years old is like climbing the Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and before you other summits higher and whiter, which you may have strength to climb, or may not. Then you sit down and meditate and wonder which it will be.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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O holy trust! O endless sense of rest! Like the beloved John To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, And thus to journey on!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow