Quotes
Quotes - Longfellow
Music is the universal language of mankind.
The counterfeit and counterpart of Nature is reproduced in art.
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.
I heard the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls.
To the red rising moon, and loud and deep The nightingale is singing from the steep.
Be noble in every thought And in every deed!
Noble by birth, yet nobler by great deeds.
A feeling of sadness and longing that is not akin to pain, and resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles the rain.
The picture that approaches sculpture nearest Is the best picture.
Good-night! good-night! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thou hast but taken up thy lamp and gone to bed; I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn.
My Book and Heart Shall never part.
Enjoy the spring of love and youth, To some good angel leave the rest, For time will teach thee soon the truth, "There are no birds in last year's nest."
Rule by patience, Laughing Water!
Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait.
All things come round to him who will but wait.
The pen became a clarion.
For thine own purpose, thou hast sent The strife and the discouragement!
Kind messages, that pass from land to land; Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, In which we feel the pressure of a hand,-- One touch of fire,--and all the rest is mystery!
The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.
The song-birds leave us at the summer's close, Only the empty nests are left behind, And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.
Be still, sad heart, and cease repining; Behind the clouds the sun is shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
And the hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind in never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
The ceaseless rain is falling fast, And yonder gilded vane, Immovable for three days past, Points to the misty main.
Night after night, He sat and bleared his eyes with books.
