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Quote by Nathaniel Hawthorne

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The house of the seven gables

Nathaniel Hawthorne's novel is a psychological and historical narrative that delves into the dark secrets of a New England family and their ancestral home, the House of the Seven Gables, which is imbued with a sense of Gothic atmosphere and symbolism. more

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Nathaniel Hawthorne
Nathaniel Hawthorne

Nathaniel Hawthorne was an American novelist known for his Gothic novels and romantic works. His writings often delve into themes of morality and sin, influenced by his family history and Puritan background. more

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“You know that I hate you, Roark. I hate you for what you are, for wanting you, for having to want you. I'm going to fight you-and I'm going to destroy you-and I tell you this as calmly as I told you that I'm a begging animal. I'm going to pray that you can't be destroyed-I tell you this, too-even though I believe in nothing and have nothing to pray to. But I will fight to block every step you take. I will fight to tear every chance you want away from you. I will hurt you through the only thing that can hurt you-through your work. I will fight to starve you, to strangle you on the things you won't be able to reach. I have done it to you to today-and that is why I shall sleep with you tonight. Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 272-3 The Fountainhead”

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“… ze všeho nejvíc ji v tu chvíli skličovala nezbytná myšlenka: “Co kdybych ale nemusela umřít! Co kdybych mohla žít, ta nekonečnost! A tohle všechno by bylo moje! Každou minutu bych proměnila ve věčnost, nic bych nepropásla, každý okamžik bych na vážkách odvažovala, ani chviličku bych nepromarnila!” Říkal, že nakonec ji z té myšlenky popadla taková zlost, že už si přála, aby ji někdo zastřelil co nejdřív.”

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“Before Marco could respond, the low hum of the backup systems faltered, flickering off momentarily, plunging the cafeteria into silence. The crowd froze, and then the red emergency lights flared back on, dimmer than before. A wave of unease rippled through the room. “What now?” Marco muttered, his hand brushing the edge of the table as if for support. Then the voice came. It was faint at first, a whisper carried on an invisible wind. But it grew quickly, overlapping into a cacophony of fragmented words and phrases, echoing from every direction. “Too many… too much…” “Falling… the stars… no, no, no…” “I can’t… hold… where… where are you…?” The cafeteria erupted into chaos. People clutched their heads or dropped to their knees, covering their ears as if trying to block out the sound. Some screamed, others whimpered, and a few simply stood frozen, wide-eyed and pale. Marco turned to Berta, shouting over the noise. “What’s going on? Is this the Logista? Is it them?” Berta didn’t answer, her gaze fixed on the center of the room. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but something about the voice sent a chill down her spine. Then, with a sound like distant thunder, the echoes ceased. The room fell silent, save for the sound of ragged breathing and muffled sobs. The crowd stood motionless, their eyes darting around, waiting for something else to happen. And then it did. A flash of light burst into existence at the center of the room, so bright it forced everyone to shield their eyes. When it subsided, a figure lay crumpled on the floor, smoke rising faintly from their form. Marco’s breath caught. “Ereban?”

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