America is now wholly given over to a damned mob of scribbling women, and I should have no chance of success while the public taste is occupied with … - Nathaniel Hawthorne

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Engraved portrait of Nathaniel Hawthorne, facing right

America is now wholly given over to a damned mob of scribbling women, and I should have no chance of success while the public taste is occupied with their trash — and should be ashamed of myself if I did succeed. What is the mystery of these innumberable editions of The Lamplighter (by Maria Susanna Cummins), and other books neither better nor worse? Worse they could not be, and better they need not be, when they sell by the hundred thousand.

English
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About Nathaniel Hawthorne

Nathaniel Hawthorne (4 July 1804 – 19 May 1864) was an American writer remembered for his romance novels (The Scarlet Letter, The House of the Seven Gables, The Blithedale Romance, and The Marble Faun) and short stories.

Biography information from Wikiquote · Portrait adapted from Wikimedia Commons, Mathew Benjamin Brady (Public domain / CC0)

Also Known As

Pen Names: Monsieur de l’Aubépine
Birth Name: Nathaniel Hathorne
Alternative Names: Monsieur de l'Aubépine N. H.

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Additional quotes by Nathaniel Hawthorne

He himself, on the other hand, with characteristic humility, avowed his belief that if Providence should see fit to remove him, it would be because of his own unworthiness to perform its humblest mission here on earth. With all this difference of opinion as to the cause of his decline, there could be no question of the fact. His form grew emaciated; his voice, though still rich and sweet, had a certain melancholy prophecy of decay in it; he was often observed, on any slight alarm or other sudden accident, to put his hand over his heart with first a flush and then a paleness, indicative of pain.

Blessed are all simple emotions, be they dark or bright! It is the lurid intermixture of the two that
produces the illuminating blaze of the infernal regions.

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I had neglected to provide myself with books, and as we crept along at the dull rate of four miles per hour, I soon felt the foul fiend Ennui coming upon me

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