Quotes
Quotes - Longfellow
And the fireflies, Wah-wah-taysee, Waved their torches to mislead him.
The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy.
For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter Of the Eternal's language;--on earth it is called Forgiveness!
Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.
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 and with a manly heart.
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead past bury its dead! Act,--act in the living Present! Heart within and God o'erhead.
The glory of Him who Hung His masonry pendant on naught, when the world He created.
He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
Great men stand like solitary towers in the city of God.
Oh, well has it been said, that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak!
Well has it been said that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
Nor deem the irrevocable Past, As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain.
Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend.
The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart, The secret anniversaries of the heart... -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Well has it been said that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak.
Sorrow is the great idealizer.
Grief is only the memory of widowed affections.
The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart; The secret anniversaries of the heart, When the full river of feeling overflows;-- The happy days unclouded to their close; The sudden joys that our of darkness start As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
Hospitality sitting with gladness.
Every human heart is human.
So when a great man dies, For years beyond our ken, The light he leaves behind him lies Upon the paths of men.
The atmosphere Breathes rest and comfort and the many chambers Seem full of welcomes.
A region of repose it seems, A place of slumber and of dreams.
Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us. There lies the Land of Song; there lies the poet's native land.
