Conscience is harder than our enemies, Knows more, accuses with more nicety.
GEORGE ELIOTDelicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
More George Eliot Quotes
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What do we live for, if not to make life less difficult for each other?
GEORGE ELIOT -
These gems have life in them: their colors speak, say what words fail of.
GEORGE ELIOT -
What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined – to strengthen each other – to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.
GEORGE ELIOT -
The darkest night that ever fell upon the earth never hid the light, never put out the stars. It only made the stars more keenly, kindly glancing, as if in protest against the darkness.
GEORGE ELIOT -
A friend is one to whom one may pour out the contents of one’s heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Animals are such agreeable friends – they ask no questions; they pass no criticisms.
GEORGE ELIOT -
To have suffered much is like knowing many languages. Thou hast learned to understand all.
GEORGE ELIOT -
The important work of moving the world forward does not wait to be done by perfect men.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Your trouble’s easy borne when everybody gives it a lift for you.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Justice is like the kingdom of God–it is not without us as a fact, it is within us as a great yearning.
GEORGE ELIOT -
The right to rebellion is the right to seek a higher rule, and not to wander in mere lawlessness.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.
GEORGE ELIOT -
There is hardly any contact more depressing to a young ardent creature than that of a mind in which years full of knowledge seem to have issued in a blank absence of interest or sympathy.
GEORGE ELIOT -
I desire no future that will break the ties of the past.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Her little butterfly soul fluttered incessantly between memory and dubious expectation.
GEORGE ELIOT