George Eliot, pen name of Mary Ann or Marian Evans
Eliot, pen name of Mary Ann or Marian Evans
What secular avocation on earth was there for a young man (whose friends could not get him an ‘appointment’) which was at once gentlemanly, lucrative, and to be followed without special knowledge?
We get a deal o' useless things about us, only because we've got the money to spend.
What a wretched lot of old shriveled creatures we shall be by-and-by. Never mind - the uglier we get in the eyes of others, the lovelier we shall be to each other; that has always been my firm faith about friendship.
What should I do—how should I act now, this very day… What she would resolve to do that day did not yet seem quite clear, but something that she could achieve stirred her as with an approaching murmur which would soon gather distinctness.
We all remember epochs in our experience when some dear expectation dies, or some new motive is born.
We have all got to exert ourselves a little to keep sane, and call things by the same names as other people call them by.
What are a handful of reasonable men against a crowd with stones in their hands?
What to one man is the virtue which he has sunk below the possibility of aspiring to, is to another the backsliding by which he forfeits his spiritual crown.
We are all apt to believe what the world believes about us.
We insignificant people with our daily words and acts are preparing the lives of many Dorotheas, some of which may present a far sadder sacrifice than that of the Dorothea whose story we know.
What believer sees a disturbing omission or infelicity? The text, whether of prophet or of poet, expands for whatever we can put into it; and even his bad grammar is sublime.
What we call despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.
We are all humiliated by the sudden discovery of a fact which has existed very comfortably and perhaps been staring at us in private while we have been making up our world entirely without it.
We judge other according to results; how else?--not knowing the process by which results are arrived at.
What business has an old bachelor like that to marry?' said Sir James. He has one foot in the grave. He means to draw it out again, I suppose.
What we call the 'just possible' is sometimes true and the thing we find it easier to believe is grossly false.
We are all of us born in moral stupidity, taking the world as an udder to feed our supreme selves
We learn words by rote, but not their meaning; that must be paid for with our life-blood, and printed in the subtle fibres of our nerves.
What can promote innocent mirth, and I may say virtue, more than a good riddle?
When a homemaking aunt scolds a niece for following her evangelistic passion instead of domestic pursuits, her reply is interesting. First, she clarifies that God's individual call on her doesn't condemn those in more conventional roles. Then, she says she can no more ignore the cry of the lost than her aunt can the cry of her child.
We are all of us denying or fulfilling prayers – and men in their careless deeds walk amidst invisible outstretched arms and pleadings made in vain.
We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.
What can still that hunger of the heart which sickens the eye for beauty, and makes sweet-scented ease an oppression?
When a man had deserved his good luck, it was the part of his neighbors to wish him joy.
We are all of us imaginative in some form or other, for images are the brood of desire.