Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes About Age
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The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
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But the good deed, through the ages Living in historic pages, Brighter grows and gleams immortal, Unconsumed by moth or rust.
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Age is opportunity no less than youth itself.
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Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it; the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves.
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Time rides with the old At a great pace. As travellers on swift steeds See the near landscape fly and flow behind them, While the remoter fields and dim horizons Go with them, and seem wheeling round to meet them, So in old age things near us slip away, And distant things go with us.
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I venerate old age; and I love not the man who can look without emotion upon the sunset of life, when the dusk of evening begins to gather over the watery eye, and the shadows of twilight grow broader and deeper upon the understanding.
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Were a star quenched on high,For ages would its light,Still travelling downward from the sky,Shine on our mortal sight. So when a great man dies,For years beyond our ken,The light he leaves behind him liesUpon the paths of men.
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The sunshine fails, the shadows grow more dreary, And I am near to fall, infirm and weary.
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Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple.
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Truths that startled the generation in which they were first announced become in the next age the commonplaces of conversation; as the famous airs of operas which thrilled the first audiences come to be played on hand-organs in the streets.
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O thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands, Life hath snares! Care and age come unawares!
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Whatever poet, orator, or sage may say of it, old age is still old age.
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How far the gulf-stream of our youth may flow Into the arctic regions of our lives, Where little else than life itself survives.
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It is autumn; not without But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that have grown old.
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To be seventy years old is like climbing the Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and before you other summits higher and whiter, which you may have strength to climb, or may not. Then you sit down and meditate and wonder which it will be.
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For 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.
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In old age our bodies are worn-out instruments, on which the soul tries in vain to play the melodies of youth. But because the instrument has lost its strings, or is out of tune, it does not follow that the musician has lost his skill.
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And the bright faces of my young companions Are wrinkled like my own, or are no more.
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In youth all doors open outward; in old age all open inward.
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Youth wrenches the sceptre from old age, and sets the crown on its own head before it is entitled to it.
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