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| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- Quote #1 |
The shades of night were falling fast,As though an Alpine village passedA youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,A banner with the strange device,ExcelsiorHis brow was sad his eye beneath,Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,And like a silver clarion rungThe accents of that unknown tongue,Excelsior -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- Quote #2 |
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,Life is but an empty dreamFor the soul is dead that slumbers,and things are not what they seem.Life is real Life is earnestAnd the grave is not its goalDust thou art to dust returnest,Was not spoken of the soul. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- Quote #3 |
It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- Quote #4 |
The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- Quote #5 |
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. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- Quote #6 |
The holiest of holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart The secret anniversaries of the heart. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- Quote #7 |
Talk not of wasted affection affection never was wasted. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- Quote #8 |
Sometimes we may learn more from a man's errors, than from his virtues. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- Quote #9 |
Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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| Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- Quote #10 |
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. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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| Displaying 1 to 10 (of 36 quotes) |
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