We must find our duties in what comes to us, not in what might have been.
GEORGE ELIOTHer little butterfly soul fluttered incessantly between memory and dubious expectation.
More George Eliot Quotes
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Impatient people, according to Bacon, are like the bees, and kill themselves in stinging others.
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Her little butterfly soul fluttered incessantly between memory and dubious expectation.
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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.
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Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot out the glory of the world, and leave only a margin by which we see the blot? I know no speck so troublesome as self.
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One must be poor to know the luxury of giving!
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In travelling I shape myself betimes to idleness And take fools’ pleasure
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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.
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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.
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I have nothing to tell except travellers’ stories, which are always tiresome, like the description of a play which was very exciting to those who saw it.
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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.
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People who live at a distance are naturally less faulty than those immediately under our own eyes.
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Your trouble’s easy borne when everybody gives it a lift for you.
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When God makes His presence felt through us, we are like the burning bush: Moses never took any heed what sort of bush it was—he only saw the brightness of the Lord.
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When death, the great reconciler, has come, it is never our tenderness that we repent of, but our severity.
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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