Know how sublime a thing it is to suffer and be strong. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Dost thou know what a hero is? Why, a hero is as much as one should say, a hero. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
I know not how it is, but during a voyage I collect books as a ship does barnacles. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Well I know the secret places, And the nests in hedge and tree; At what doors are friendly faces, In what hearts… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours Weeping upon his bed has sate, He knows you… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; Home-keeping hearts are the happiest, For those that wander they know not where Are… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The Devil hinders me. You know I say Just what I think, and nothing more nor less, And, when I pray, my… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest, Who cries to me: "Remember Barmecide, And tremble to be happy with the rest." And I make… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
More and more do I feel, as I advance in life, how little we really know of each other. Friendship seems to… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
I promise myself great pleasure from my visit to England. You know I am to stay with Dickens while in London; and… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
What discord we should bring into the universe if our prayers were all answered. Then we should govern the world and not… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Men are four; He who knows and knows not that he knows. He is asleep; wake him. He who knows not and… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and hands full… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
In old age our bodies are worn-out instruments, on which the soul tries in vain to play the melodies of youth. But because the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
“ Endymion The rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between.… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
There's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Fame comes only when deserved, and then is as inevitable as destiny, for it is destiny. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Nature paints not; In oils, but frescoes the great dome of heaven; With sunsets, and the lovely forms of clouds; And flying vapors. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
“ Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers,— Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from Fear,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
The trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, While underneath such leafy tents they… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Heights by great men reached and kept were not obtained by sudden flight but, while their companions slept, they were toiling upward in the… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
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,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha the Beloved, In the glory of the sunset, In the purple mists of evening, To the regions of the home-wind,… — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Copy Share Image
