William Hazlitt is one of my favorite writers. Writing in the early- and mid-nineteenth century, Hazlitt articulated the voice of the Romantic movement like few others could. An essayist, painter, poet, and, for all intents and purposes, the inventor of sports journalism (which he did with an article about a cricket game), Hazlitt was an impressive man to say the least.
But the reason why I particularly like him is twofold: he articulated emotion extremely well in his writing, and his worldview was informed by an age which, on balance, embraced emotion. It’s ironic, then, that his works had a resurgence in popularity in the early 1990s; perhaps it was a response to postmodern reductionism, nullification and alienation. Personally, in spite of my ability to write in an extremely far-removed and jargon-heavy manner, I am, for better or worse, a hopeless romantic. And I, like many of my ilk today, choose to read the works of others like us. Continue reading “Two Extended Quotes From William Hazlitt’s Essays”