Our deeds still travel with us from afar, and what we have been makes us what we are.
GEORGE ELIOTRome – the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar.
More George Eliot Quotes
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We have had an unspeakably delightful journey, one of those journeys which seem to divide one’s life in two, by the new ideas they suggest and the new views of interest they open.
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I love not to be choked with other men’s thoughts.
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She was no longer wrestling with the grief, but could sit down with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer in her thoughts.
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… it is one thing to like defiance, and another thing to like its consequences.
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I desire no future that will break the ties of the past.
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Appearances have very little to do with happiness.
GEORGE ELIOT -
In bed our yesterdays are too oppressive: if a man can only get up, though it be but to whistle or to smoke, he has a present which offers some resistance to the past-sensations which assert themselves against tyrannous memories.
GEORGE ELIOT -
The years between fifty and seventy are the hardest. You are always being asked to do things, and yet you are not decrepit enough to turn them down.
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.
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It’s never too late to be who you were meant to be.
GEORGE ELIOT -
We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it.
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Love has a way of cheating itself consciously, like a child who plays at solitary hide-and-seek; it is pleased with assurances that it all the while disbelieves.
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That by desiring what is perfectly good, even when we don’t quite know what it is and cannot do what we would, we are part of the divine power against evil — widening the skirts of light and making the struggle with darkness narrower.
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It is painful to be told that anything is very fine and not be able to feel that it is fine–something like being blind, while people talk of the sky.
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The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone.
GEORGE ELIOT