I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls, The burial-ground God's-Acre. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow More Quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow More Quotes From Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Three silences there are: the first of speech, the second of desire, the third of thought. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow threesilencedesire Where should the scholar live? In solitude, or in society? in the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the heart of Nature beat, or in the dark, gray town where he can hear and feel the throbbing heart of man? Henry Wadsworth Longfellow darkheartcountry How beautiful the silent hour, when morning and evening thus sit together, hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of midnight! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow twilightmorningbeautiful Nor deem the irrevocable Past Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrecksrisingpast It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes and roofs of villages, on woodland crests and their aerial neighborhoods of nests deserted, on the curtained window-panes of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes and harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow sleepcountrychildren Defeat may be victory in disguise. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow defeatvictorymay Thought takes man out of servitude, into freedom. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow freedommenthinking All things must change Henry Wadsworth Longfellow something-newstrangechange Fame comes only when deserved, and then is as inevitable as destiny, for it is destiny. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow fatedestinyliterature The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colorless when unbroken. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow adversityhappinessinspirational It was Autumn, and incessant Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, And, like living coals, the apples Burned among the withering leaves. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow coalautumnapples Doubtless criticism was originally benignant, pointing out the beauties of a work rather that its defects. The passions of men have made it malignant, as a bad heart of Procreates turned the bed, the symbol of repose, into an instrument of torture. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow passionheartmen Magnificent autumn! He comes not like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds; not like a hermit, clad in gray; but like a warrior with the stain of blood in his brazen mail. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow autumnwarriorweed Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it; the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow growthagetree When thou are not pleased, beloved, Then my heart is sad and darkened, As the shining river darkens When the clouds drop shadows on it! When thou smilest, my beloved, Then my troubled heart is brightened, As in sunshine gleam the ripples That the cold wind makes in rivers. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow sunshinecloudsheart Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of affection! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow strongheartpatience Even He that died for us upon the cross, in the last hour, in the unutterable agony of death, was mindful of His mother, as if to teach us that this holy love should be our last worldly thought - the last point of earth from which the soul should take its flight for heaven. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow agonymotherheaven In the long, sleepless watches of the night, A gentle face the face of one long dead Looks at me from the wall, where round its head The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow walllightnight Not chance of birth or place has made us friends, Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, But the endeavor for the selfsame ends, With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow tonguedifferentfriendship 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. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow inspirationallifedeath
