926 Quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

No man is so poor as to have nothing worth giving.

But the nearer the dawn the darker the night, And by going wrong all things come right. Things have been mended that were worse, and the the worse, the nearer they are to mend.

Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley stretching for miles below Is white with blossoming cherry-trees, as if just covered with lighted snow.

Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry.

Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But never will be sung to us again, Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best.

Your education begins where what is called your education is over. Your fate is but the common lot of all.

And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and masts of ships.

Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.