Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

The nearer the dawn the darker the night.

adversity


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted.

affection


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.

age


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child.

children


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.

city


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

Not in the clamor of the crowded street, Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.

defeat


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

enemy


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest!

friendship


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

Joy, temperance, and repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose.

health


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

Ah, how skillful grows the hand That obeyeth Love's command! It is the heart and not the brain That to the highest doth attain, And he who followeth Love's behest Far excelleth all the rest.

heart


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

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.

life


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

Love gives itself; it is not bought.

love


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

The counterfeit and counterpart Of Nature reproduced in art.

nature


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.

success


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

A thought often makes us hotter than a fire.

thoughts


Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth

For his heart was in his work, and the heart Giveth grace unto every Art.

work


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