Henry James (15 April 1843 – 28 February 1916) was an American-born writer, regarded as one of the key figures of 19th-century literary realism. He was the son of Henry James, Sr. and the brother of philosopher and psychologist William James and diarist Alice James.
James alternated between America and Europe for the first 20 years of his life, after which he settled in England, ... more »
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Henry James Poems
He sits in his room Startled by what he sees Not knowing what to think Not knowing what to believe
Quotationsmore quotations »
Happy you poets who can be present and so present by a simple flicker of your genius, and not, like the clumsier race, have to lay a train and pile up faggots that may not after prove in the least com...Henry James (1843-1916), U.S. author. Letter, August 25, 1915, to poet W.B. Yeats, from private collection. This passage was later incorporated in...
''He is outside of everything, and alien everywhere. He is an aesthetic solitary. His beautiful, light imagination is the wing that on the autumn evening just brushes the dusky window.''Henry James (1843-1916), U.S. author. Anthology Library of the World's Best Literature, vol. 12, introduction (1897). Said of Nathaniel Hawthorne....
''We work in the darkwe do what we canwe give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.''Henry James (1843-1916), U.S. author. repr. In The Complete Tales of Henry James, vol. 9, ed. Leon Edel (1964). Dencombe, in The Middle Years, origina...
''In museums and palaces we are alternate radicals and conservatives.''Henry James (1843-1816), U.S. author. "Florentine Notes," sct. 3, Italian Hours (1909).
There are moods in which one feels the impulse to enter a tacit protest against too gross an appetite for pure aesthetics in this starving and sinning world. One turns half away, musingly, from certai...Henry James (1843-1916), U.S. author. "Florentine Notes," sect. 2, Italian Hours (1909).
Comments about Henry James
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
He sits in his room
Startled by what he sees
Not knowing what to think
Not knowing what to believe
The trembling he feels
Strickins pain inside
He can't run from his fears
He has no where to hide
'What is this curse
that has fallen on me'
'What did I learn'
What did I see
He knows so little
He suffers so much
He hears every whisper
He feels every touch
Finally he gives in
To whatever he's done
The game still continues
But no one has fun