Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quotes

I think March and fall are natural seasons for me to feel invigorated.

I love feeling the crispness of fall and the sensuality of spring.

I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.

We really can't boil a man's life down to seasonal divisions of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Seasons cycle perennially, and we enjoy them because they recur. We should understand a man's life this way too. An elderly person may yet see new springs and summers. On the other hand, some young people never escape winter. Others become ensnared by their own private autumns.

You ought to know that October is the first Spring month.

Everyone goes through their winters and springs, and their summers and autumns.

What potent blood hath modest May.

We all know that a winter scene, though it may be covered over one day, with even the trees dressed in shawls of snow, will be unrecognizable the following spring. Yet I never imagined such a thing could occur within our very selves.

Inside of us, there's a continual autumn. Our leaves fall and are blown out over the water.

The aster has not wasted spring and summer because it has not blossomed. It has been all the time preparing for what is to follow, and in autumn it is the glory of the field, and only the frost lays it low. So there are many people who must live forty or fifty years, and have the crude sap of their natural dispositions changed and sweetened before the blossoming time can come; but their lives have not been wasted.

It is a pity that, as one gradually gains experience, one loses one's youth.

Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring.

Hee that is in a towne in May loseth his spring.

Autumn is a season followed immediately by looking forward to spring.

My Soul gave me good counsel, teaching me never to delight in praise or to be distressed by reproach. Before my Soul taught me, I doubted the value of my accomplishments until the passing days sent someone who would extol or disparage them. But now I know that trees blossom in the spring and give their fruits in the summer without any desire for accolades. And they scatter their leaves abroad in the fall and denude themselves in the winter without fear of reproof.

I've never known anyone yet who doesn't suffer a certain restlessness when autumn rolls around... We're all eight years old again and anything is possible.

Our judgment ripens; our imagination decays. We cannot at once enjoy the flowers of the Spring of life and the fruits of its Autumn.

The falling leaf that tells of autumn's death is, in a subtler sense, a prophecy of spring.

April ... hath put a spirit of youth in everything.