Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes
The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well, and doing well whatever you do without thought of fame. If it comes at all it will come because it is deserved, not because it is sought after.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream For the soul is dead that slumbers, and things are not what they seem. Life is real Life is earnest And the grave is not its goal Dust thou art to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Trust no future, however pleasant Let the dead past bury its dead Act, - act in the living Present Heart within and God overhead.
The adoration of his heart had been to her only as the perfume of a wild flower, which she had carelessly crushed with her foot in passing.
There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.
The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight, but they while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night.
You know I say just what I think, and nothing more and less. I cannot say one thing and mean another.
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.
Let us, then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait.
Let us, then, be up and doing, with a heart for any fate Still achieving, still pursuing, learn to labor and to wait.
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted, If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters returning Back to their springs, like the rain shall fill them full of refreshment That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted, If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters returning Back to their springs, like the rain shall fill them full of refreshment; That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.
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 Procrustes turned the bed, the symbol of repose, into an instrument of torture.
Life is real Life is earnest And the grave is not its goal Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Look not mournfully into the Past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the Present. In is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy Future, without fear, and a manly heart.
Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future, without fear.
The holiest of holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart The secret anniversaries of the heart.
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.
Men of genius are often dull and inert in society, as a blazing meteor when it descends to earth, is only a stone.
We judge ourselves by what we are capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.
We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.
It is curious to note the old sea-margins of human thought. Each subsiding century reveals some new mystery; we build where monsters used to hide themselves.
Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.
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