Most of us who turn to any subject with love remember some morning or evening hour when we got on a high stool to reach down an untried volume, or sat with parted lips listening to a new talker, or for very lack of books began to listen to the voices within, as the first traceable beginning of our love.
The troublesome ones in a family are usually either the wits or the idiots.
What can promote innocent mirth, and I may say virtue, more than a good riddle?
But indefinite visions of ambition are weak against the ease of doing what is habitual or beguilingly agreeable; and we all know the difficulty of carrying out a resolve when we secretly long that it may turn out to be unnecessary. In such states of mind the most incredulous person has a private leaning towards miracle: impossible to conceive how our wish could be fulfilled, still - very wonderful things have happened!
For we all of us, grave or light, get our thoughts entangled in metaphors, and act fatally on the strength of them.
If a man has a capacity for great thoughts, he is likely to overtake them before he is decrepit.
One can begin so many things with a new person! - even begin to be a better man.
The Vicar's talk was not always inspiriting: he had escaped being a Pharisee, but he had not escaped that low estimate of possibilities which we rather hastily arrive at as an inference from our own failure.
What right have such men to represent Christianity-as if it were an institution for getting up idiots genteelly?
But let the wise be warned against too great readiness at explanation: it multiplies the sources of mistake, lengthening the sum for reckoners sure to go wrong.
He distrusted her affection; and what loneliness is more lonely than distrust.
In poor Rosamond's mind there was not room enough for luxuries to look small in.
One's self-satisfaction is an untaxed kind of property which it is very unpleasant to find deprecated.
The wit of a family is usually best received among strangers.
When a man has seen the woman whom he would have chosen if he had intended to marry speedily, his remaining a bachelor will usually depend on her resolution rather than on his.
But we are frightened at much that is not strictly conceivable.
He once calledher his basil plant; and when she asked for an explanation, said that basil was a plant which had flourished wonderfully ona murdered man's brains.
In Rome it seems as if there were so many things which are more wanted in the world than pictures.
Our good depends on the quality and breadth of our emotions.
There are answers which, in turning away wrath, only send it to the other end of the room, and to have a discussion coolly waived when you feel that justice is all on your own side is even more exasperating in marriage than in philosophy.
When a tender affection has been storing otself in us through many of our years, the idea that we could accept any exchange for it seems to be a cheapening of our lives. And we can set a watch over our affections and our constancy as we can over other treasures.
A human being in this aged nation of ours is a very wonderful hole, the slow creation of long interchanging influences; and charm is a result of two such wholes, the one loving and the one loved.
But with regard to critical occasions, it often happens that all moments seem comfortably remote until the last.
He thought it probable that Miss Brooke liked him, and manners must be very marked indeed before they cease to be interpreted by preconceptions either confident or distrustful.
In spite of his mildness and timidity in reproving, every one about him knew that on the exceptional occasions when he chose, he was absolute. He never, indeed, chose to be absolute except on some one else's behalf.
Our sense of duty must often wait for some work which shall take the place of dilettanteism and make us feel that the quality of our action is not a matter of indifference.
There are characters which are continually creating collisions and nodes for themselves in dramas which nobody is prepared to act with them. Their susceptibilities will clash against objects that remain innocently quiet.
Who can know how much of his most inward life is made up of the thoughts he believes other men to have about him, until that fabric of opinion is threatened with ruin?
A man conscious of enthusiasm for worthy aims is sustained under petty hostilities by the memory of great workers who had to fight their way not without wounds, and who hover in his mind as patron saints, invisibly helping.
Certainly the determining acts of her life were not ideally beautiful. They were the mixed result of young and novel impulse struggling amidst the conditions of an imperfect social state, in which great feelings will often take the aspect of error, and great faith the aspect of illusion.
More George Eliot Quotations (Based on Topics)
Man - Life - World - Love - Mind - Woman - Wisdom & Knowledge - People - Sense & Perception - Soul - Friendship - Emotions - Imagination & Visualization - Beauty - Hope - Sadness - Truth - Thought & Thinking - Fear - View All George Eliot Quotations
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