Nathaniel Hawthorne

Every crime destroys more Edens than our own.

Every crime destroys more Edens than our own.

"Here, dearest Eve," he exclaims, "here is food." "Well,"
answered she, with the germ of a housewife stirring within read more

"Here, dearest Eve," he exclaims, "here is food." "Well,"
answered she, with the germ of a housewife stirring within her,
"we have been so busy to-day that a picked-up dinner must serve."

No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting read more

No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be true.

Happiness is a butterfly, which, when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down read more

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.

And what is more melancholy than the old apple-trees that linger
about the spot where once stood a homestead, read more

And what is more melancholy than the old apple-trees that linger
about the spot where once stood a homestead, but where there is
now only a ruined chimney rising our of a grassy and weed-grown
cellar? They offer their fruit to every wayfarer--apples that
are bitter-sweet with the moral of times vicissitude.