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Quote by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Work

The Scarlet Letter

Nathaniel Hawthorne's classic novel is a profound exploration of human nature and the consequences of sin in a Puritan community. The protagonist, Hester Prynne, faces societal judgment and personal turmoil after being caught in an adulterous affair. The novel delves into themes of guilt, forgiveness, and the struggle for identity, while also examining the complexities of human relationships and the role of society in shaping individual lives. more

Author

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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“It is impossible to see how good work might be accomplished by people who think that our life in this world either signifies nothing or has only a negative significance. If, on the other hand, we believe that we are living souls, God's dust and God's breath, acting our parts among other creatures all made of the same dust and breath as ourselves; and if we understand that we are free, within the obvious limits of moral human life, to do evil or good to ourselves and to the other creatures - then all our acts have a supreme significance. If it is true that we are living souls and morally free, then all of us are artists. All of us are makers, within mortal terms and limits, of our lives, of one another's lives, of things we need and use... If we think of ourselves as living souls, immortal creatures, living in the midst of a Creation that is mostly mysterious, and if we see that everything we make or do cannot help but have an everlasting significance for ourselves, for others, and for the world, then we see why some religious teachers have understood work as a form of prayer... Work connects us both to Creation and to eternity. (pg. 316, Christianity and the Survival of Creation)”

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Book:The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays
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“It had started snowing, a thick wet layer of slush that won't stick. There are no cars on the road, nothing but big white flakes falling onto our faces, erasing the buildings around us, and the low swish of our feet on the road as we try to keep our footing, a soft wheeze humming from the bottom of my lungs from too much smoking. In the middle of Nation Road, Mazzie turns to me without any warning. She grabs my arm and we both fall down, and then we're sitting there in the middle of the bare road, and for a few seconds we just sit there, quite, listening to the eerie silent noise of snow falling against land. Snow covers Mazzie's eyelashes, making her look like a tiny ice princess– the closest she will ever come to wearing makeup. "You look pretty," I say. "Shut up.”

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Book:Breathless
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