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Shall we never never get rid of this Past? ... It lies upon the Present like a giant's dead body.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
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Nathaniel Hawthorne
Age: 59 †
Born: 1804
Born: July 4
Died: 1864
Died: May 18
Diplomat
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Salem
Massachusetts
Nathaniel Hathorne
Monsieur de l'Aubépine
N. H.
Shall
Lying
Upon
Past
Giant
Body
Giants
Never
Lies
Like
Dead
Present
More quotes by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Mountains are earth's undecaying monuments.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
It was one of those moments—which sometimes occur only at the interval of years—when a man's moral aspect is faithfully revealed to his mind's eye. Not improbably, he had never before viewed himself as he did now.
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Romance and poetry, ivy, lichens and wallflowers need ruin to make them grow.
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She had not known the weight until she felt the freedom.
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Accuracy is twin brother to honesty, and inaccuracy to dishonesty.
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Echo is the voice of a reflection in a mirror.
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A human spirit may find no insufficiency of food fit for it, even in the Custom House.
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The thing you set your mind on is the thing you ultimately become.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Christian faith is a grand cathedral, with divinely pictured windows. Standing without, you see no glory, nor can possibly imagine any standing within, every ray of light reveals a harmony of unspeakable splendors.
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Religion and art spring from the same root and are close kin. Economics and art are strangers.
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A man's bewilderment is the measure of his wisdom.
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Last night, there came a frost, which has done great damage to my garden.... It is sad that Nature will play such tricks on us poor mortals, inviting us with sunny smiles to confide in her, and then, when we are entirely within her power, striking us to the heart.
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No man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.
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Bees are sometimes drowned in the honey which they collectso some writers are lost in their collected learning.
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We dream in our waking moments, and walk in our sleep.
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London is like the grave in one respect -- any man can make himself at home there and whenever a man finds himself homeless elsewhere, he had better either die or go to London.
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A throng of bearded men in sad-colored garments and gray, steeple-crowned hats, intermixed with women, some wearing hoods, and other bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice, the door of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with iron spikes.
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Sunlight is painting.
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This dull river has a deep religion of its own so, let us trust, has the dullest human soul, though, perhaps, unconsciously.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
The inward pleasure of imparting pleasure - that is the choicest of all.
Nathaniel Hawthorne