A bodily disease which we look upon as whole and entire within itself, may after all, be but a symptom of some ailment in the spiritual part.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNEMoonlight is sculpture.
More Nathaniel Hawthorne Quotes
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Mankind are earthen jugs with spirits in them.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
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 -
The world owes all its onward impulses to men ill at ease. The happy man inevitably confines himself within ancient limits.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
Love, whether newly born, or aroused from a deathlike slumber, must always create sunshine, filling the heart so full of radiance, this it overflows upon the outward world.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
A singular fact, that, when man is a brute, he is the most sensual and loathsome of all brutes.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
Happiness is like a butterfly.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
She had not known the weight until she felt the freedom.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
What is the voice of song when the world lacks the ear of taste?
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
A pure hand needs no glove to cover it.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
Nobody will use other people’s experience, nor have any of his own till it is too late to use it.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
The book, if you would see anything in it, requires to be read in the clear, brown, twilight atmosphere in which it was written; if opened in the sunshine, it is apt to look exceedingly like a volume of blank pages.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
All brave men love; for he only is brave who has affections to fight for, whether in the daily battle of life, or in physical contests.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
Echo is the voice of a reflection in a mirror.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE -
I want nothing to do with politicians. Their hearts wither away, and die out of their bodies. Their consciences are turned to india-rubber, or to some substance as black as that, and which will stretch as much.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE