Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

When sparrows build and the leaves break forth, My old sorrow wakes and cries.

The melancholy river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow boughs, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight.

There's the moon asking to stay long enough for the clouds to fly me away

During the days in detention, I thought most about the moon.

Sundown, yellow moon, I replay the past I know every scene by heart, they all went by so fast

Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea, Why takest thou its melancholy voice, And with that boding cry Along the waves dost thou fly? Oh! rather, bird, with me Through this fair land rejoice!

That is why I write - to try to turn sadness into longing, solitude into remembrance.

Sorrow is tranquility remembered in emotion.

It's all still there in heart and soul. The walk, the hills, the sky, the solitary pain and pleasure-they will grow larger, sweeter, lovelier in the days and years to come.

There is pleasure in calm remembrance of a past sorrow.

I couldn’t help but think about school and everything else ending. I liked standing just outside the couches and watching them—it was a kind of sad I didn’t mind, and so I just listened, letting all the happiness and the sadness of this ending swirl around in me, each sharpening the other. For the longest time, it felt kind of like my chest was cracking open, but not precisely in an unpleasant way.

It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness of pain: of strength and freedom. The beauty of disappointment and never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature and everlasting beauty of monotony.

There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery.

Tonight I'm going to shower and then just walk for about four hours and look at the moon.

How little remains of the man I once was, save the memory of him! But remembering is only a new form of suffering.

When you are alone and too tired even to turn on any of your devices, you let yourself linger in a past stacked among your pillows.

We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal - every other affliction to forget: but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open - this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude.

There is no greater sorrow Than to be mindful of the happy time In misery

But to Sam the evening deepened to darkness as he stood at the Haven; and as he looked at the grey sea he saw only a shadow in the waters that was soon lost in the West. There he stood far into the night, hearing only the sigh and murmur of the waves on the shores of Middle-Earth, and the sound of them sank deep into his heart.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?