George Eliot, pen name of Mary Ann or Marian Evans
Thought has joys apart, even in blackest woe, and seizing some fine thread of verity knows momentary godhead.
To men who only aim at escaping felony, nothing short of the prisoner's dock is disgrace.
Under the vague dullness of the gray hours, dissatisfaction seeks a definite object and finds it in the privation of an untried good.
There was no gleam, no shadow, for the heavens, too, were one still, pale cloud; no sound or motion in anything but the dark river that flowed and moaned like an unresting sorrow.
They kissed each other with a deep joy.
Thoughts are so great--aren't they, sir? They seem to lie upon us like a great flood.
To most men their early home is no more than a memory of their early years. The image is never marred. There's no disappointment in memory, and one's exaggerations are always on the good side.
Until every good man is brave, we must expect to find many good women timid--too timid even to believe in the correctness of their own best promptings, when these would place them in a minority.
There were intervals in which she could sit perfectly still, enjoying the outer stillness and the subdued light. The red fire with its gently audible movement seemed like a solemn existence calmly independent of the petty passions, the imbecile desires, the straining after worthless uncertainties, which were daily moving her contempt. Mary was fond of her own thoughts, and could amuse herself well sitting in the twilight with her hands in her lap; for, having early had strong reason to believe that things were not likely to be arranged for her peculiar satisfaction, she wasted no time in astonishment and annoyance at that fact. And she had already come to take life very much as a comedy in which she had a proud, nay, a generous resolution not to act the mean or treacherous part. Mary might have become cynical if she had not had parents whom she honored, and a well of affectionate gratitude within her, which was all the fuller because she had learned to make no unreasonable claims.
They say fortune is a woman and capricious. But sometimes she is a good woman, and gives to those who merit.
Three words have often been used as the trumpet-call of men - the words God, Immortality, Duty - pronounced with terrible earnestness.
To most mortals there is a stupidity which is unendurable and a stupidity which is altogether acceptable — else, indeed, what would become of social bonds?
Upon my word, I think the truth is the hardest missile one can be pelted with.
There's a deal in a man's inward life as you can't measure by the square, and say, 'Do this and that'll follow,' and, 'Do that and this'll follow.' There's things go on in the soul, and times when feelings come into you like a rushing mighty wind, as the scripture says, and part your life in two a'most, so as you look back on yourself as if you was somebody else. Those are things as you can't bottle up in a 'do this' and 'do that;' and I'll go so far with the strongest Methodist ever you'll find. That shows me there's deep speritial things in religion. You can't make much out wi' talking about it, but you feel it.
They the royal-hearted women are who nobly love the noblest, yet have grace for needy suffering lives in lowliest place, carrying a choicer sunlight in their smile, the heavenliest ray that pitieth the vile.
Throughout their friendship Deronda had been used to Hans' egotism, but he had never before felt intolerant of it: when Hans, habitually pouring out his own feelings and affairs, had never cared for any detail in return, and, if he chanced to know any, had soon forgotten it
To see an enemy humiliated gives a certain contentment, but this is jejune compared with the highly blent satisfaction of seeing him humiliated by your benevolent action or concession on his behalf. That is the sort of revenge which falls into the scale of virtue.
Vague memories hang about the mind like cobwebs.
There's folks as make bad butter and trusten to the salt t' hide it.
Things are achieved when they are well begun. The perfect archer calls the deer his own while yet the shaft is whistling.
Time, like money, is measured by our needs.
To the old, sorrow is sorrow; to the young, it is despair.
Vanity is as ill at ease under indifference as tenderness is under a love which it cannot return.
There's folks 'ud stand on their heads and then say the fault was i' their boots.
Things don't happen because they're bad or good, else all eggs would be addled or none at all, and at the most it is but six to the dozen. There's good chances and bad chances, and nobody's luck is pulled only by one string.