Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" was an American poet and educator whose works include "Paul Revere's Ride (poem)/Paul Revere's Ride", The Song of Hiawatha, and Evangeline. He was also the first American to translate Dante Alighieri/Dante Alighieri's The Divine Comedy, and was one of the five Fireside Poets.

Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, which was then a part of Massachusetts. He studied at Bowdoin College. After spending time in Europe he became a professor at Bowdoin and, later, at Harvard College. His first major poetry collections were Voices of the Night (1839) and Ballads and Other Poems (1841). Longfellow retired from teaching in 1854, to focus on his writing, living the remainder of his life in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in a former headquarters of George Washington. His first wife Mary Potter died in 1835, after a miscarriage. His second wife Frances Appleton died in 1861, after sustaining burns when her dress caught fire. After her death, Longfellow had difficulty writing poetry for a time and focused on his translation. He died in 1882.

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

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

There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.

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

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

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

Learn to labour and to wait.

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

Music is the universal language of mankind.

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 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.

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

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.

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

The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.

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

Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the flowers, Kind deeds are the fruits, Take care of your garden And keep out the weeds, Fill it with sunshine Kind words and kind deeds.

Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted.

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

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.

Age is opportunity no less than youth itself.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar.

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

'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.'

Thy fate is the common fate of all; Into each life some rain must fall.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 and with a manly heart.

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