Her little butterfly soul fluttered incessantly between memory and dubious expectation.
GEORGE ELIOTThe thing we look forward to often comes to pass, but never precisely in the way we have imagined to ourselves.
More George Eliot Quotes
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There is a great deal of unmapped country within us which would have to be taken into account in an explanation of our gusts and storms.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Trouble’s made us kin.
GEORGE ELIOT -
It is hard to believe long together that anything is “worth while,” unless there is some eye to kindle in common with our own, some brief word uttered now and then to imply that what is infinitely precious to us is precious alike to another mind.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Death is the king of this world: ‘Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Jews are not fit for Heaven, but on earth they are most useful.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Appearances have very little to do with happiness.
GEORGE ELIOT -
If you deliver an opinion at all, it is mere stupidity not to do it with an air of conviction and well-founded knowledge. You make it your own in uttering it, and naturally get fond of it.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it.
GEORGE ELIOT -
What destroys us most effectively is not a malign fate but our own capacity for self-deception and for degrading our own best self.
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 -
Consequences are unpitying.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Impatient people, according to Bacon, are like the bees, and kill themselves in stinging others.
GEORGE ELIOT -
It is a common sentence that knowledge is power; but who hath duly considered or set forth the power of ignorance? Knowledge slowly builds up what ignorance in an hour pulls down.
GEORGE ELIOT -
I think I dislike what I don’t like more than I like what I like.
GEORGE ELIOT -
When death, the great reconciler, has come, it is never our tenderness that we repent of, but our severity.
GEORGE ELIOT