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 ELIOTLife began with waking up and loving my mother’s face.
More George Eliot Quotes
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Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.
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 -
Character is not cut in marble – it is not something solid and unalterable. It is something living and changing, and may become diseased as our bodies do.
GEORGE ELIOT -
The responsibility of tolerance lies with those who have the wider vision.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Wear a smile and have friends; wear a scowl and have wrinkles.
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 -
One must be poor to know the luxury of giving!
GEORGE ELIOT -
“Heaven help us,” said the old religion; the new one, from its very lack of that faith, will teach us all the more to help one another.
GEORGE ELIOT -
I like not only to be loved, but to be told that I am loved; the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Enveloped in a common mist, we seem to walk in clearness ourselves, and behold only the mist that enshrouds others.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Life seems to go on without effort when I am filled with music.
GEORGE ELIOT -
The right to rebellion is the right to seek a higher rule, and not to wander in mere lawlessness.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Human feeling is like the mighty rivers that bless the earth: it does not wait for beauty – it flows with resistless force and brings beauty with it.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Religious ideas have the fate of melodies, which, once set afloat in the world, are taken up by all sorts of instruments, some of them woefully coarse, feeble, or out of tune, until people are in danger of crying out that the melody itself is detestable.
GEORGE ELIOT