Nathaniel Hawthorne

(1804-1864 / the United States)

Nathaniel Hawthorne
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Nathaniel Hawthorne (born Nathaniel Hathorne; July 4, 1804 – May 19, 1864) was an American novelist and short story writer.

Nathaniel Hathorne was born in 1804 in the city of Salem, Massachusetts to Nathaniel Hathorne and Elizabeth Clarke Manning Hathorne. He later changed his name to "Hawthorne", adding a "w" to dissociate from relatives including John Hathorne, a judge during the Salem Witch Trials. Hawthorne attended Bowdoin College, was elected to Phi Beta Kappa in 1824, and graduated in 1825; his classmates included future president Franklin Pierce and future poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Hawthorne anonymously published his first work, a novel titled ... more »

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Quotations

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  • ''Is it a fact—or have I dreamt it—that, by means of electricity, the world of matter has become a great nerve, vibrating thousands of miles in a breathless point of time?''
    Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864), U.S. author. Clifford Pyncheon, in The House of the Seven Gables, ch. 17 (1851).
  • ''A woman's chastity consists, like an onion, of a series of coats.''
    Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864), U.S. author. English Notebooks, journal entry, March 16, 1854 (1870, revised 1941).
  • ''We must not always talk in the market-place of what happens to us in the forest.''
    Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864), U.S. author. Hester Prynne, in The Scarlet Letter, ch. 22 (1850).
  • ''Nobody, I think, ought to read poetry, or look at pictures or statues, who cannot find a great deal more in them than the poet or artist has actually expressed. Their highest merit is suggestiveness.''
    Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864), U.S. author. Hilda, in The Marble Faun, ch. 41 (1860).
  • ''Every young sculptor seems to think that he must give the world some specimen of indecorous womanhood, and call it Eve, Venus, a Nymph, or any name that may apologize for a lack of decent clothing.''
    Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864), U.S. author. Miriam, in The Marble Faun, ch. 14 (1860).
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Best Poem of Nathaniel Hawthorne

The Darken'D Veil

Oh, could I raise the darken'd veil
Which hides my future life from me,
Could unborn ages slowly sail
Before my view -- and could I see
My every action painted there,
To cast one look I would not dare.
There poverty and grief might stand,
And dark Despair's corroding hand,
Would make me seek the lonely tomb
To slumber in its endless gloom.
Then let me never cast a look,
Within Fate's fix'd mysterious book.

Read the full of The Darken'D Veil

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