Horace Walpole
Horatio Walpole, 4th Earl of Orford (24 September 1717 – 2 March 1797) was an English art historian, man of letters, antiquarian and Whig politician. He is now largely remembered for Strawberry Hill, the home he built in Twickenham, south-west London where he revived the Gothic style some decades before his Victorian successors, and for his Gothic novel, The Castle of Otranto. Along with the book, his literary reputation rests on his Letters, which are of significant social and political interest. He was the son of Sir Robert Walpole, and cousin of the 1st Viscount Nelson.
Read more about Horace Walpole: Early Life: 1717–1739, Grand Tour: 1739–1741, Early Parliamentary Career: 1741–1754, Strawberry Hill, Later Parliamentary Career: 1754–1768, Later Life: 1768–1788, Last Years: 1788–1797, Writings, Formal Styles From Birth To Death
Famous quotes by horace walpole:
“When the Prince of Piedmont [later Charles Emmanuel IV, King of Sardinia] was seven years old, his preceptor instructing him in mythology told him all the vices were enclosed in Pandora’s box. ‘What! all!’ said the Prince. ‘Yes, all.’ ‘No,’ said the Prince; ‘curiosity must have been without.’”
—Horace Walpole (1717–1797)
“Defaced ruins of architecture and statuary, like the wrinkles of decrepitude of a once beautiful woman, only make one regret that one did not see them when they were enchanting.”
—Horace Walpole (1717–1797)
“An ancient prophecy ... pronounced, That the castle and lordship of Otranto should pass from the present family, whenever the real owner should be grown too large to inhabit it!”
—Horace Walpole (1717–1797)
“The sure way of judging whether our first thoughts are judicious, is to sleep on them. If they appear of the same force the next morning as they did over night, and if good nature ratifies what good sense approves, we may be pretty sure we are in the right.”
—Horace Walpole (1717–1797)
“‘Heaven nor hell shall impede my designs,’ said Manfred, advancing again to seize the princess. At that instant the portrait of his grandfather ... uttered a deep sigh and heaved its breast. ... Manfred ... saw it quit its panel, and descend on the floor with a grave and melancholy air.”
—Horace Walpole (1717–1797)