And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow More Quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow More Quotes From Henry Wadsworth Longfellow If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow archerymotivationalinspirational The student has his Rome, his Florence, his whole glowing Italy, within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world and the glories of a modern one. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow glowingwallbook A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow parentingheartchildren For it is the fate of a woman Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is speechless, Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers Runnng through caverns of darkness. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow fatevoicerivers Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, our faith triumphant o’er our fears, are all with thee – are all with thee! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow country-loveprayerheart The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and hands full of flowers. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow flowerspringchildren Look, then, into thine heart, and write! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow heartwritinglooks Music is the universal language of mankind. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow musicappreciationteacher The Wreck of the Hesperus But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow frozenwrecksfather O Music! language of the soul, Of love, of God to man; Bright beam from heaven thrilling, That lightens sorrow's weight. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow musicmenheaven Love is the root of creation; God's essence; worlds without number Lie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only. Only to love and to be loved again. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow love-islyingchildren A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow sadnesspainrain There are things of which I may not speak; There are dreams that cannot die; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow eyestrongdream I am the Angel of the Sun Henry Wadsworth Longfellow angelrunningnight Whatever hath been written shall remain, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ponderingauthorshipthee Enthusiasm begets enthusiasm. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow begetsenthusiasm The human voice is the organ of the soul. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow organsvoicesoul 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 climbingtimeyears I venerate old age; and I love not the man who can look without emotion upon the sunset of life, when the dusk of evening begins to gather over the watery eye, and the shadows of twilight grow broader and deeper upon the understanding. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow twilighttimelove Softly the evening came /with the sunset/. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow eveningsunset
