Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

American poet

Lived from: 1819-1892

Category: Poets (Contemporary)

Quotes: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Quotes 1 till 15 of 102.

• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  

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  All things must change to something new, to something strange.

• 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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  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

  

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  A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years mere study of books.
  

• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  

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  A thought often makes us hotter than a fire.
  

• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  

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  A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child.
  

• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  

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  Ah! what would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before.

• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  

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  All the means of action - the shapeless masses - the materials - lie everywhere about us. What we need is the celestial fire to change the flint into the transparent crystal, bright and clear. That fire is genius.''

• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  

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  All things come round to him who will but wait.

• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  

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  And the night shall be filled with music, and the cares, that infest the day, shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, and as silently steal away.

• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  

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  Art is the child of Nature; yes, her darling child, in whom we trace the features of the mother's face, her aspect and her attitude.

• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  

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  Build today, then strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure. Shall tomorrow find its place.

• Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  

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  Critics are sentinels in the grand army of letters, stationed at the corners of newspapers and reviews, to challenge every new author.

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  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.

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  Each morning sees some task begun, each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, has earned a night's repose.

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