Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

‘Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers, and things are not what they seem.
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.’

Give what you have. To some it may be better than you dare think.

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.

All are architects of fate. So look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again.

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

All things must change to something new, to something strange.

Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think.

The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight, but they while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night.

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

The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,
And all the sweet serenity of books.

To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgement of others.

He that respects himself is safe from others. He wears a coat of mail that none can pierce.

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.

We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.

Sometimes we may learn more from a man's errors, than from his virtues.

All the means of action - the shapeless masses - the materials - lie everywhere about us. What we need is the celestial fire to change the flint into the transparent crystal, bright and clear. That fire is genius.

Well has it been said that there is no grief like the grief which does not speak.

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

It is curious to note the old sea-margins of human thought. Each subsiding century reveals some new mystery; we build where monsters used to hide themselves.

Look not mournfully into the Past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the Present. In is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy Future, without fear, and a manly heart.

You know I say just what I think, and nothing more and less. I cannot say one thing and mean another.

Doubtless criticism was originally benignant, pointing out the beauties of a work rather that its defects. The passions of men have made it malignant, as a bad heart of Procrustes turned the bed, the symbol of repose, into an instrument of torture.

We judge ourselves by what we are capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.

Men of genius are often dull and inert in society, as a blazing meteor when it descends to earth, is only a stone.

Age is opportunity no less than youth itself.

Learn to labour and to wait.

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted,
If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters returning
Back to their springs, like the rain shall fill them full of refreshment;
That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

Let us, then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.

Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted.

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.

The heights by great men reached and kept, were not obtained by sudden flight. But they, while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night.

Perseverance is a great element of success. If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody.

The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well, and doing well whatever you do without thought of fame. If it comes at all it will come because it is deserved, not because it is sought after.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day. Their old, familiar carols play. And wild and sweet the words repeat. Of peace on earth, good-will to men!