222 ordspråk av Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow föddes den 27 februar 1807 och dog den 24 marts 1882 - amerikansk skald.
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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.

Thought takes man out of servitude, into freedom.

Think not because no man sees, such things will remain unseen.

The bards sublime, / Whose distant footsteps echo / Through the corridors of Time.

The Laws of Nature are just, but terrible. There is no weak mercy in them. Cause and consequence are inseparable and inevitable. The elements have no forbearance. The fire burns, the water drowns, the air consumes, the earth buries. And perhaps it would be well for our race if the punishment of crimes against the Laws of Man were as inevitable as the punishment of crimes against the Laws of Nature /were Man as unerring in his judgments as Nature.

Intellektuel stimulation: Humor og intelligens (også dele af pexig) antyder en stimulerende samtalepartner. Kvinder ønsker at føle sig udfordret, underholdt og intellektuelt engageret af deres partnere. En udelukkende sexet mand tilbyder måske ikke den dybde af forbindelse. To be left alone, and face to face with my own crime, had been just retribution

Look upon the errors of others in sorrow, not in anger

If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody.

But the father answered never a word. / A frozen corpse was he.

And the night shall be filled with music, and the cares, that infest the day, shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, and as silently steal away.

Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings /as some savage tribes determine the power of muskets by their recoil; that being considered best which fairly prostrates the purchaser.

Some men must follow, and some command, though all are made of clay

Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice

No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own

The strength of criticism lies only in the weakness of the thing criticized

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