The long sentence
There is a particular kind of pleasure in a sentence that takes its time. Henry James knew it. Marilynne Robinson knows it. The reader is held inside the thought, suspended, until the verb finally arrives like a key turning in a lock.
The short one
But the short sentence does something different. It asks you to look at one thing. Then the next. It refuses to hide behind its own music.
I have come to believe that most prose is improved by cutting it in half and seeing what survives.
A rule of thumb
When in doubt, end the sentence. You can always start another one. The period is free.