Top 167 Gale Hawthorne Quotes & Sayings

But Gale is not one to keep secrets from me. "Katniss, there is no District Twelve."

It's true of so many fiction writers that I much prefer the essayistic work they did, whether it's David Foster Wallace's, or John Cheever's, or Nathaniel Hawthorne's.

Nathaniel Hawthorne once said that easy reading is damn hard writing.

Let's face it: the 19th century really was the great age of the novel - Melville, Hawthorne, Tolstoy. These are the people I really admire.

The perennial gale of creative destruction

Maybe it's because I was named for him, but I've always wanted to meet Nathaniel Hawthorne. It's oversimplifying, but all Hawthorne's short stories and novels are, in one way or another, about guilt. Something profoundly disturbing must have happened to him at an early age. I'd like to know what that was.

Hawthorne has given us a tradition that some people refer to as Yankee Magic Realism, and I do think there is a certain quality to the landscape that definitely leads into the dark woods.

Hawthorne sucks... It's a crazy place, and I'm happy that I was the weird one that got out.

I go back to my room and lie under the covers, trying not to think of Gale and thinking of nothing else.

writing is a labor of love and also an act of defiance, a way to light a candle in a gale wind.

Female television viewers paid attention to Catherine Gale.

[Hawthorne''s] pious blame is a chuckle of praise all the while.

On life's vast ocean diversely we sail. Reasons the card, but passion the gale.

Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.

The university must be retrospective. The gale that gives direction to the vanes on all its towers blows out of antiquity.

One of the reasons why I decided to participate in 'HawthoRNe' was I really wanted the opportunity to show how ordinary people do extraordinary things.

Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale.

Fate whirls on the bark, and the rough gale sweeps from the rising tide the lazy calm of thought.

to write a novel in the heart of London is next to an impossibility. I feel as if I were nailing a flag to the top of a mast in a raging gale.

Thirty years ago, my sister, Gale (so named because a gale hit Boston Harbor the night she was born), some friends and I stole a boat in the middle of the night and sailed it out of the Santa Barbara harbor. Suddenly we were becalmed and the current began pushing us toward the breakwall. With no running lights and no power, we were dead in the water. Out of that darkness a steel hull appeared: it was the local Coast Guard cutter. My father, stern-faced and displeased, stood in the bow.

I'm a fart in a gale of wind, a humble violet under a cow pat.

Ere, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, Have put their glory on.

Poe is a kind of Hawthorne and delirium tremens.

"Katniss," Gale says softly. I recognize that voice. It's the same one he uses to approach wounded animals before he delivers a deathblow. I Instinctively raise my hand to block his words but he catches it and holds on tightly. "Don't," I whisper. But Gale is not one to keep secrets from me. "Katniss, there is no District Twelve."

I think about going to the lake, but I'm so weak that I barely make it to my meeting place with Gale. I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it's too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale's in 2 with a fancy job, probably kissing another pair of lips.

When a crew and a captain understand each other to the core, it takes a gale, and more than a gale, to put their ship ashore.

Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable.

The actual American childhood is less Norman Rockwell and Walt Disney than Nathaniel Hawthorne and Edgar Allan Poe.

Mayer Hawthorne's old school pop-R&B homages are so meticulous that it's tempting to overrate his pipes.

Let the winds blow! a fiercer gale Is wild within me! what may quell That sullen tempest? I must sail Whither, O whither, who can tell!

My work holds up the mirror to hypocrisy, which puts me in a tradition of American writing that reaches back to Nathaniel Hawthorne.

I think that what happens is that all of my modern influences blend together with the older soul influences and you get Mayer Hawthorne.

In fact, I'll be taking a lot of Cathy Gale with me. I expect that was why I was chosen for the part.

In terms of the Richter scale this defeat was a force 8 gale.

I will never have a life with Gale even if I want to.

In adversity be spirited and firm, and with equal prudence lessen your sail when filled with a too fortunate gale of prosperity.

for some reason Gale and Peeta do not coexist well in my thoughts.

Thus, I steer my bark, and sail On even keel, with gentle gale.

If I'm outside, I'm really happy. I don't care whether it's blowing a gale, I just love being outdoors.

He who has suffered shipwreck, fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.

Fortune had favoured me in this war that I feared, the rather, that some tempest would follow so favourable a gale.

Look to the lighthouse of the Lord. There is no fog so dense, no night so dark, no gale so strong, no mariner so lost but what its beacon light can rescue.

It makes life very simple actually. You could be giving a TV interview in howling gale and it no longer matters.

It blows a snowing gale in the winter of the year; The boats are on the sea and the crews are on the pier. The needle of the vane, it is veering to and fro, A flash of sun is on the veering of the vane. Autumn leaves and rain, The passion of the gale.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like a quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

Not if we blow it up," Gale says brusquely. His intent, his full intent, becomes clear. Gale has no interest in preserving the lives of those in the Nut. No interest in caging the pray for later use. This is one of his death traps.

The American, who up to the present day, has evinced, in Literature, the largest brain with the largest heart, that man is Nathaniel Hawthorne.

It's your own fault for being so camera-ready," I tell Gale. If looks could kill.

The United States is my subject, but as Hawthorne once wrote, "the United States are suited for many admirable purposes, but not to live in."

Your biggest influences are the earliest ones. When I was young, I was very influenced by the short stories of Nathaniel Hawthorne.

There is more suspense, more dramatic torque, in one page of [Nathaniel] Hawthorne's heart-racked ruminations onthe Christian consciencethaninall Demi Moore's woodland gallops and horizontal barn dancing.

Most thoughtful Americans of today seem to have forgotten how strongly their own and immediate predecessors, Emerson, Hawthorne and Whitman, were still preoccupied with the essence behind things.

People will send me tweets or texts, 'Yo, I'm at Red Lobster now and they're playing Mayer Hawthorne,' more of that kind of stuff, which is hilarious.

A living gale is better than a dead calm.

Seeing is such a privilege. Who notices the way the screech of a gull looks, the look of a gale, the sight of some fragrance?

I can't help comparing what I have with Gale to what I'm pretending to have with Peeta. How I never question Gale's motives while I do nothing but doubt the latter's. It's not a fair comparison really. Gale and I were thrown together by a mutual need to survive. Peeta and I know the other's survival means our own death. How do you sidestep that?

As a director, it just makes my life fantastic to work with people like Elizabeth Hawthorne.

Hoist up sail while gale doth last, Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure.

Blanche: No, I have the misfortune of being an English instructor. I attempt to instill a bunch of bobby-soxers and drugstore Romeos with a reverence for Hawthorne and Whitman and Poe!

Amy Poehler and I have been friends for so long, we're like Oprah and Gale. Only we're not denying anything.