Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Would you learn the secret of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers, comprehend its mystery!

If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it.

The human voice is the organ of the soul.

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

Whenever nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit.

However things may seem, no evil thing is success and no good thing is failure.

Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions.

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 Procreates turned the bed, the symbol of repose, into an instrument of torture.

'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees_x000D_ _x000D_ Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.

The spring came suddenly, bursting upon the world as a child bursts into a room, with a laugh and a shout and hands full of flowers.

Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives whom we call dead.

Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.

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

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.

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic legends, all my dreams, come back to me.

A boy's will is the wind's will.

The everyday cares and duties, which men call drudgery, are the weights and counterpoises of the clock of time, giving its pendulum a true vibration and its hands a regular motion; and when they cease to hang upon its wheels, the pendulum no longer swings, the hands no longer move the clock stands still.

I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song? Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.

Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.

Today is the blocks with which we build.