There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion. ― Edgar Allan Poe
As for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts. ― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick or the Whale. (Modern Library, 1992, originally published by Harper & Brothers, 1851)
And he piled upon the whale’s white hump. A sum of all the rage and hate felt by his own race. If his chest had been a cannon, he would have shot his heart upon it. – Herman Melville, Moby-Dick; or, The Whale. Richard Bentley October 18, 1851 (Britain), Harper & Brothers November 14, 1851… Continue reading Herman Melville
From childhood’s hour I have not beenAs others were—I have not seenAs others saw—I could not bringMy passions from a common spring—From the same source I have not takenMy sorrow—I could not awakenMy heart to joy at the same tone—And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— — Edgar Allan Poe, from “Alone,” American Poetry: The Nineteenth… Continue reading Edgar Allan Poe
There seemed a deep sense of life and joy about all; and although no airs blew from out the Heavens, yet everything had motion through the gentle sweepings to and fro of innumberable butterflies, that might have been mistaken for tullips with wings. ― Edgar Allan Poe, from “The Island of the Fay,” The Fall… Continue reading Edgar Allan Poe
A continued succession of unpleasant, Novembery days, and autumn has made rapid progress in the work of decay. – Nathaniel Hawthorne, The American Notebooks. (Ohio State University Press; Centennial edition, January 28, 2017) Originally published 1932.
There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October. The sunshine is peculiarly genial; and in sheltered places, as on the side of a bank, or of a barn or house, one becomes acquainted and friendly with… Continue reading Nathaniel Hawthorne