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 ELIOTThe finest language is mostly made up of simple unimposing words.
More George Eliot Quotes
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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.
GEORGE ELIOT -
I don’t want the world to give me anything for my books except money enough to save me from the temptation to write only for money.
GEORGE ELIOT -
The world is full of hopeful analogies and handsome, dubious eggs, called possibilities.
GEORGE ELIOT -
Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.
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 -
It is surely better to pardon too much, than to condemn too much.
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 -
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.
GEORGE ELIOT -
It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses we must plant more trees.
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 -
Any coward can fight a battle when he’s sure of winning; but give me the man who has the pluck to fight when he’s sure of losing.
GEORGE ELIOT -
The important work of moving the world forward does not wait to be done by perfect men.
GEORGE ELIOT -
What makes life dreary is the want of a motive.
GEORGE ELIOT -
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.
GEORGE ELIOT -
What sunshine is to flowers, smiles are to humanity.
GEORGE ELIOT