George William Curtis
In August 1892, George William Curtis died in New York City, closing a career that had carried him through several distinct but overlapping roles in American letters — essayist, satirist, journalist, and literary editor. His death in the same city where he had been born in February 1824 gave his life a particular geographical symmetry, beginning and ending within the same urban setting.
Curtis was born in New York City on February 24, 1824, and worked as a writer across multiple capacities throughout his life. He practiced the essay with enough consistency to be identified as an essayist by profession, and his satirical work placed him among American writers who employed pointed observation as a literary mode. The English language was the medium through which all of these pursuits found expression, and his United States citizenship situated his work within a specifically American context.
As a journalist, Curtis engaged with the periodical culture of his era, contributing to the circulation of ideas through the press. His role as a literary editor extended his activity beyond his own writing, placing him in a position connected to the production and presentation of printed work. These twin functions — writing and editing — were not uncommon among nineteenth-century American men of letters, and Curtis occupied both over the course of his working life.
Curtis died on August 31, 1892, having built a career that spanned the essay, satire, journalism, and literary editing. The Library of Congress authoritative record identifies him under the label "Curtis, George William, 1824–1892," a designation that places his dates alongside his name as the principal coordinates by which he is catalogued and retrieved. That institutional record stands as one concrete marker of the place his work came to occupy within the organized memory of American literature.
Quotes by George William Curtis

It is not the ship so much as the skillful sailing that assures a prosperous voyage.

Modern Americans travel light, with little philosophic baggage other than a fervent belief in their right to the pursuit of happiness.

The big mistake that men make is that when they turn thirteen or fourteen and all of a sudden they’ve reached puberty, they believe that they like women. Actually, you’re just horny. It doesn’t mean you like women any more at twenty-one than you did at ten.

There is very little moral mixture in the ‘Antislavery’ feeling of this country. A great deal is abstract philanthropy; part is hatred of slaveholders; a great part is jealousy for white labor, very little is consciousness of wrong done and the wish to right it.





