Henry Wadsworth Longfellow II 

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain.

Music is the universal language of mankind

Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels

My soul is full of longing
for the secret of the sea,
and the heart of the great ocean
sends a thrilling pulse through me

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

The heart, like the mind, has a memory.
And in it are kept the most precious keepsakes.

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.

There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye

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,
Spilled on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.