George Eliot, pen name of Mary Ann or Marian Evans
Whether happiness may come or not, one should try and prepare one's self to do without it.
With thy coming melody was come. This was thy lot, to feel, create, bestow, and that immeasurable life to know from which the fleshly self falls shriveled, dead, a seed primeval that has forests bred.
You love the roses--so do I. I wish the sky would rain down roses, as they rain from off the shaken bush. Why will it not? Then all the valleys would be pink and white, and soft to tread on. They would fall as light as feathers, smelling sweet; and it would be like sleeping and yet waking, all at once. Over the sea, Queen, where we soon shall go, will it rain roses?
While the arm is strong to strike and heave, let soul and arm give shape that will abide.
Women know no perfect love: loving the strong, they can forsake the strong; man clings because the being whom he loves is weak and needs him.
You may try but you can never imagine what it is to have a man's form of genius in you, and to suffer the slavery of being a girl.
While the heart beats, bruise it--it is your only opportunity.
Women should be protected from anyone's exercise of unrighteous power . . . but then, so should every other living creature.
You must be sure of two things: you must love your work, and not be always looking over the edge of it, wanting your play to begin. And the other is, you must not be ashamed of your work, and think it would be more honorable to you to be doing something else. You must have a pride in your own work and in learning to do it well, and not be always saying, There's this and there's that—if I had this or that to do, I might make something of it. No matter what a man is—I wouldn't give two-pence for him— here Caleb's mouth looked bitter, and he snapped his fingers— whether he was the prime minister or the rick-thatcher, if he didn't do well what he undertook to do.
Who can know how much of his most inward life is made up of the thoughts he believes other men to have about him, until that fabric of opinion is threatened with ruin?
Women who are content with light and easily broken ties do not act as I have done. They obtain what they desire and are still invited to dinner.
You must learn to deal with the odd and even in life, as well as in figures.
When Squire Cass's standing dishes diminished in plenty and freshness, his guests had nothing to do but to walk a little higher up the village to Mr. Osgood's, at the Orchards, and they found hams and chines uncut, pork-pies with the scent of the fire in them, spun butter in all its freshness — everything, in fact, that appetites at leisure could desire, in perhaps greater perfection, though not in greater abundance, than at Squire Cass's.
Who can prove wit to be witty when with deeper ground dullness intuitive declares wit dull?
Worldly faces never look so worldly as at a funeral. They have the same effect of grating incongruity as the sound of a coarse voice breaking the solemn silence of night.
You must love your work, and not be always looking over the edge of it, wanting your play to begin. And the other is, you must not be ashamed of your work, and think it would be more honorable to you to be doing something else. You must have a pride in your own work and in learning to do it well, and not be always saying, There’s this and there’s that—if I had this or that to do, I might make something of it. No matter what a man is—I wouldn’t give two-pence for him’— here Caleb’s mouth looked bitter, and he snapped his fingers— ‘whether he was the prime minister or the rick-thatcher, if he didn’t do well what he undertook to do.
When the animals entered the Ark in pairs, one may imagine that allied species made much private remark on each other, and were tempted to think that so many forms feeding on the same store of fodder were eminently superfluous, as tending to diminish the rations....
Who has not felt the beauty of a woman's arm? The unspeakable suggestions of tenderness that lie in the dimpled elbow, and all the varied gently-lessening curves, down to the delicate wrist, with its tiniest, almost imperceptible nicks in the firm softness.
Worldly faces, never look so worldly as at a funeral.
You must mind and not lower the Church in people's eyes by seeming to be frightened about it for such a little thing.
When the commonplace We must all die transforms itself suddenly into the acute consciousness I must die - and soon, then death grapples us, and his fingers are cruel; afterwards, he may come to fold us in his arms as our mother did, and our last moment of dim earthly discerning may be like the first.
Who shall put his finger on the work of justice, and say, "It is there"? Justice is like the kingdom of God: it is not without us as a fact; it is within us as a great yearning.
Would not love see returning penitence afar off, and fall on its neck and kiss it?
You should read history and look at ostracism, persecution, martyrdom, and that kind of thing. They always happen to the best men, you know.
When we are suddenly released from an acute absorbing bodily pain, our heart and senses leap out in new freedom; we think even the noise of streets harmonious, and are ready to hug the tradesman who is wrapping up our change.