Her little butterfly soul fluttered incessantly between memory and dubious expectation.
GEORGE ELIOTThere is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and have recovered hope.
More George Eliot Quotes
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Joy and sorrow are both my perpetual companions, but the joy is called Past and the sorrow Present.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Appearances have very little to do with happiness.
GEORGE ELIOT -
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.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Any coward can fight a battle when he’s sure of winning.
GEORGE ELIOT -
No story is the same to us after a lapse of time; or rather we who read it are no longer the same interpreters.
GEORGE ELIOT -
It is a narrow mind which cannot look at a subject from various points of view.
GEORGE ELIOT -
There is a great deal of unmapped country within us.
GEORGE ELIOT -
It is as useless to fight against the interpretations of ignorance as to whip the fog.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Those who trust us educate us.
GEORGE ELIOT -
People are so ridiculous with their illusions, carrying their fool’s caps unawares, thinking their own lies opaque while everybody else’s are transparent, making themselves exceptions to everything, as if when all the world looked yellow under a lamp they alone are rosy.
GEORGE ELIOT -
We are led on, like little children, by a way we know not.
GEORGE ELIOT -
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.
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 -
But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.
GEORGE ELIOT -
If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.
GEORGE ELIOT






