George Eliot Quotes
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Confound you handsome young fellows! You think of having it all your own way in the world. You don't understand women. They don't admire you half so much as you admire yourselves.
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Steady work turns genius to a loom.
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Say "I love you" to those you love. The eternal silence is long enough to be silent in, and that awaits us all.
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Our impartiality is kept for abstract merit and demerit, which none of us ever saw.
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What is better than to love and live with the loved? – But that must sometimes bring us to live with the dead; and this too turns at last into a very tranquil and sweet tie, safe from change and injury.
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Hear Everything and judge for yourself.
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The dull mind, once arriving at an inference that flatters the desire, is rarely able to retain the impression that the notion from which the inference started was purely problematic.
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It's a father's duty to give his sons a fine chance.
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Blows are sarcasms turned stupid.
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A suppressed resolve will betray itself in the eyes.
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It is in these acts called trivialities that the seeds of joy are forever wasted, until men and women look round with haggard faces at the devastation their own waste has made, and say, the earth bears no harvest of sweetness-calling their denial knowledge.
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Decide on what you think is right, and stick to it.
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But let the wise be warned against too great readiness to explanation: it multiplies the sources of mistake, lengthening the sum for reckoners sure to go wrong.
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What furniture can give such finish to a room as a tender woman's face? And is there any harmony of tints that has such stirring of delight as the sweet modulation of her voice?
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Try to take hold of your sensibility, and use it as if it were a faculty, like vision.
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The intensest form of hatred is that rooted in fear.
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It so often happens that others are measuring us by our past self while we are looking back on that self with a mixture of disgust and sorrow.
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Power of generalizing gives men so much the superiority in mistake over the dumb animals.
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Our deeds still travel with us from afar, and what we have been makes us what we are.
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A woman mixed of such fine elements That were all virtue and religion dead She'd make them newly, being what she was.
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Imagination is a licensed trespasser: it has no fear of dogs, but may climb over walls and peep in at windows with impunity.
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The years seem to rush by now, and I think of death as a fast approaching end of a journey-double and treble reason for loving as well as working while it is day.
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A man falling into dark waters seeks a momentary footing even on sliding stones.
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Life is like our game at whist ... I don't enjoy the game much, but I like to play my cards well, and see what will be the end of it.