George Eliot Quotes

Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving wordy evidence of the fact.

"Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love"

A man who sets his face against every sort of humbug is simply a three-cornered, impracticable fellow. There's a bad sort of humbug, but there is also a good style - one that oils the wheels and makes progress possible. If you are to rule men, you must rule them through their own ideas... There is no action possible without a little acting.

...the truth is the hardest missile one can be pelted with.

In every parting there is an image of death.

What do we live for, if it is not to make life less different to each other?

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined... to strengthen each other... to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined... to strengthen each other... to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.

Cruelty, like every other vice, requires no motive outside itself - it only requires opportunity.

The reward of one duty is the power to fulfill another.

There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and have recovered hope.

Blessed is the influence of one true, loving human soul to another.

What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?

Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love.

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.

Fred's studies are not very deep…he is only reading a novel.

Among all forms of mistake, prophecy is the most gratuitous.

Pride helps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our own hurts, not to hurt others.

Many Theresas have been born who found for themselves no epic life wherein there was a constant unfolding of far-resonant action; perhaps only a life of mistakes, the offspring of a certain spiritual grandeur ill-matched with the meanness of opportunity; perhaps a tragic failure which found no sacred poet and sank unwept into oblivion.

Debasing the moral currency.