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Upon my word, I think the truth is the hardest missile one can be pelted with.
— George Eliot
novelist, translator, philosopher, writer, poet, journalist, essayist, editor
🔗 Read on Wikipedia1819 – 1880
Upon my word, I think the truth is the hardest missile one can be pelted with.
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.
People are almost always better than their neighbors think they are.
It is always fatal to have music or poetry interrupted.
You should read history and look at ostracism, persecution, martyrdom, and that kind of thing. They always happen to the best men, you know.
Blessed is the influence of one true, loving human soul on another.
My own experience and development deepen everyday my conviction that our moral progress may be measured by the degree in which we sympathize with individual suffering and individual joy.
If art does not enlarge men's sympathies, it does nothing morally.
I'm proof against that word failure. I've seen behind it. The only failure a man ought to fear is failure of cleaving to the purpose he sees to be best.
An election is coming. Universal peace is declared, and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry.
Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.
Apropos of the "The Lifted Veil," I think it will not be judicious to reprint it at present. I care for the idea which it embodies, and which justifies its painfulness. A motto which I wrote on it yesterday perhaps is a sufficient indication of that idea: —
I like not only to be loved, but also to be told that I am loved. I am not sure that you are of the same kind. But the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave. This is the world of light and speech, and I shall take leave to tell you that you are very dear.
Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us wordy evidence of the fact.
Falsehood is so easy, truth so difficult....Examine your words well, and you will find that even when you have no motive to be false, it is a very hard thing to say the exact truth, even about your own immediate feelings -- much harder than to say something fine about them which is
It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger after them.
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.
To be a poet is to have a soul so quick to discern, that no shade of quality escapes it, and so quick to feel, that discernment is but a hand playing with finely-ordered variety on the chords of emotion--a soul in which knowledge passes instantaneously into feeling, and feeling flashes back as a new organ of knowledge.
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.
It is never too late to be what you might have been.
Blessed is the influence of one true, loving human soul on another.
The difficulty is, to decide how far resolution should set in the direction of activity rather than in the acceptance of a more negative state.
Nice distinctions are troublesome. It is so much easier to say that a thing is black, than to discriminate the particular shade of brown, blue, or green, to which it really belongs. It is so much easier to make up your mind that your neighbour is good for nothing, than to enter into all the circumstances that would oblige you to modify that opinion.
But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.
Every man who is not a monster, a mathematician, or a mad philosopher, is the slave of some woman or other.
Any coward can fight a battle when he's sure of winning; but give me the man who has pluck to fight when he's sure of losing. That's my way, sir; and there are many victories worse than a defeat.
Opposition may become sweet to a man when he has christened it persecution.
The blessed work of helping the world forward, happily does not wait to be done by perfect men.
Worldly faces, never look so worldly as at a funeral.
Blessed is the man, who having nothing to say, abstains from giving wordy evidence of the fact.
Who can proveDulness intuitive declares wit dull?
Our dead are never dead to us until we have forgotten them.
It's but little good you'll do a-watering the last year's crop.
Deep, unspeakable suffering may well be called a baptism, a regeneration, the initiation into a new state.
We hand folks over to God's mercy, and show none ourselves.
What greater thing is there for two human souls, than to feel that they are joined for life--to strengthen each other in all labor, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting?
Consequences are unpitying. Our deeds carry their terrible consequences, quite apart from any fluctuations that went before — consequences that are hardly ever confined to ourselves.
Family likeness has often a deep sadness in it. Nature, that great tragic dramatist, knits us together by bone and muscle, and divides us by the subtler web of our brains; blends yearning and repulsion; and ties us by our heart-strings to the beings that jar us at every movement.
Imagination is a licensed trespasser: it has no fear of dogs, but may climb over walls and peep in at windows with impunity.
The natur o' things doesn't change, though it seems as if one's own life was nothing but change. The square o' four is sixteen, and you must lengthen your lever in proportion to your weight, is as true when a man's miserable as when he's happy; and the best o' working is, it gives you a grip hold o' things outside your own lot".
Life began with waking up and loving my mother's face.
Love has a way of cheating itself consciously, like a child who plays at solitary hide-and-seek; it is pleased with assurances that it all the while disbelieves.
There's folks as make bad butter and trusten to the salt t' hide it.
It was a still afternoon — the golden light was lingering languidly among the upper boughs, only glancing down here and there on the purple pathway and its edge of faintly sprinkled moss: an afternoon in which destiny disguises her cold awful face behind a hazy radiant veil, encloses us in warm downy wings, and poisons us with violet-scented breath.
Such young unfurrowed souls roll to meet each other like two velvet peaches that touch softly and are at rest; they mingle as easily as two brooklets that ask for nothing but to entwine themselves and ripple with ever-interlacing curves in the leafiest hiding-places.
Her heart lived in no cherished secrets of its own, but in feelings which it longed to share with all the world.
I like not only to be loved, but also to be told I am loved.
People who love downy peaches are apt not to think of the stone, and sometimes jar their teeth terribly against it.
One can say everything best over a meal.
O may I join the choir invisible
"I like breakfast-time better than any other moment in the day," said Mr. Irwine. "No dust has settled on one's mind then, and it presents a clear mirror to the rays of things".
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.
Marriage must be a relation either of sympathy or of conquest.
There are many victories worse than a defeat.
It seems to me now, if I was to find Father at home to-night, I should behave different; but there's no knowing — perhaps nothing 'ud be a lesson to us if it didn't come too late.
It was the last weakness he meant to indulge in; and a man never lies with more delicious languor under the influence of a passion than when he has persuaded himself that he shall subdue it to-morrow.
There are so many of us, and our lots are so different, what wonder that Nature's mood is often in harsh contrast with the great crisis of our lives? We are children of a large family, and must learn, as such children do, not to expect that our hurts will be made much of — to be content with little nurture and caressing, and help each other the more.
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 to have recovered hope.
There's no pleasure i' living if you're to be corked up for ever, and only dribble your mind out by the sly, like a leaky barrel.
It is well known to all experienced minds that our firmest convictions are often dependent on subtle impressions for which words are quite too coarse a medium.
Men's lives are as thoroughly blended with each other as the air they breathe: evil spreads as necessarily as disease.
Doubtless a great anguish may do the work of years, and we may come out from that baptism of fire with a soul full of new awe and new pity.
How is it that the poets have said so many fine things about our first love, so few about our later love? Are their first poems their best? Or are not those the best which come from their fuller thought, their larger experience, their deeper-rooted affections?
They kissed each other with a deep joy. What greater thing is there for two human souls, than to feel that they are joined for life — to strengthen each other in all labour, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting?
You told me the truth when you said to me once, "There's a sort of wrong that can never be made up for".
Come in, Adam, and rest; it has been a hard day for thee.
He was like a cock who thought the sun had risen to hear him crow.
Howiver, I'm not denyin' the women are foolish: God Almighty made 'em to match the men.
Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love...
Our life is determined for us — and it makes the mind very free when we give up wishing and only think of bearing what is laid upon us and doing what is given us to do.
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.
I should like to know what is the proper function of women, if it is not to make reasons for husbands to stay at home, and still stronger reasons for bachelors to go out.
I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs, and ideas into my brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music.
There is no feeling, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music.
I've never any pity for conceited people, because I think they carry their comfort about with them.
Childhood has no forebodings; but then, it is soothed by no memories of outlived sorrow.
How lovely the little river is, with its dark changing wavelets! It seems to me like a living companion while I wander along the bank, and listen to its low, placid voice . . .
Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.
Better spend an extra hundred or two on your son's education, than leave it him in your will.
These bitter sorrows of childhood! when sorrow is all new and strange, when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, and the space from summer to summer seems measureless.
We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it...
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.
If a man means to be hard, let him keep in his saddle and speak from that height, above the level of pleading eyes, and with the command of a distant horizon.
Ugly and deformed people have great need of unusual virtues, because they are likely to be extremely uncomfortable without them.
There was no gleam, no shadow, for the heavens, too, were one still, pale cloud; no sound or motion in anything but the dark river that flowed and moaned like an unresting sorrow.
High achievements demand some other unusual qualification besides an unusual desire for high prizes.
It is never too late to be what you might have been.
It is doubtful whether our soldiers would be maintained if there were not pacific people at home who like to fancy themselves soldiers. War, like other dramatic spectacles, might possibly cease for want of a "public."
If boys and men are to be welded together in the glow of transient feeling, they must be made of metal that will mix, else they inevitably fall asunder when the heat dies out.
If I got places, sir, it was because I made myself fit for 'em. If you want to slip into a round hole, you must make a ball of yourself; that's where it is.
It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger after them. How can we ever be satisfied without them until our feelings are deadened?
She and Stephen were in that stage of courtship which makes the most exquisite moment of youth, the freshest blossom-time of passion, — when each is sure of the other's love, but no formal declaration has been made, and all is mutual divination, exalting the most trivial word, the lightest gesture, into thrills delicate and delicious as wafted jasmine scent.
One gets a bad habit of being unhappy.
There is something strangely winning to most women in that offer of the firm arm; the help is not wanted physically at that moment, but the sense of help, the presence of strength that is outside them and yet theirs, meets a continual want of the imagination.
Jealousy is never satisfied with anything short of an omniscience that would detect the subtlest fold of the heart.
More helpful than all wisdom is one draught of simple human pity that will not forsake us.
Nature repairs her ravages, but not all. The uptorn trees are not rooted again; the parted hills are left scarred; if there is a new growth, the trees are not the same as the old, and the hills underneath their green vesture bear the marks of the past rending. To the eyes that have dwelt on the past, there is no thorough repair.
Renunciation remains sorrow, though a sorrow borne willingly.
But then the need of being loved, the strongest need … in poor Maggie’s nature, began to wrestle with her pride and soon threw it.
He seemed to weave, like the spider, from pure impulse, without reflection. Every man's work, pursued steadily, tends in this way to become an end in itself, and so to bridge over the loveless chasms of his life.
He hated the thought of the past; there was nothing that called out his love and fellowship toward the strangers he had come amongst; and the future was all dark.
Do we not wile away moments of inanity or fatigued waiting by repeating some trivial movement or sound, until the repetition has bred a want, which is incipient habit?
the rich ate and drank freely, accepting gout and apoplexy as things that ran mysteriously in respectable families . . .
So soon as Squire Cass's standing dishes diminished in plenty and freshness, his guests had nothing to do but to walk a little higher up the village to Mr. Osgood's, at the Orchards, and they found hams and chines uncut, pork-pies with the scent of the fire in them, spun butter in all its freshness — everything, in fact, that appetites at leisure could desire, in perhaps greater perfection, though not in greater abundance, than at Squire Cass's.
The only failure one should fear, is not hugging to the purpose they see as best.
That big muscular frame of his held plenty of animal courage, but helped him to no decision when the dangers to be braved were such as could neither be knocked down nor throttled.
She was no longer struggling against the perception of facts, but adjusting herself to their clearest perception.
The yoke a man creates for himself by wrong-doing will breed hate in the kindliest nature; . . .
The lapse of time during which a given event has not happened, is, in this logic of habit, constantly alleged as a reason why the event should never happen, even when the lapse of time is precisely the added condition which makes the event imminent. A man will tell you that he has worked in a mine for forty years unhurt by an accident as a reason why he should apprehend no danger, though the roof is beginning to sink . . .
. . . "there's allays two 'pinions; there's the 'pinion a man has of himsen, and there's the 'pinion other folks have on him. There'd be two 'pinions about a cracked bell, if the bell could hear itself."
I'm proof against that word failure. I've seen behind it. The only failure a man ought to fear is failure of cleaving to the purpose he sees to be best.
He was like a cock who thought the sun had risen to hear him crow.
Instead of trying to still his fears he encouraged them, with that superstitious impression which clings to us all, that if we expect evil very strongly it is the less likely to come; . . .
no sort of duplicity can long flourish without the help of vocal falsehoods
You should read history and look at ostracism, persecution, martyrdom, and that kind of thing. They always happen to the best men, you know.
He had a sense that the old man meant to be good-natured and neighbourly; but the kindness fell on him as sunshine falls on the wretched — he had no heart to taste it, and felt that it was very far off him.
Formerly, his heart had been as a locked casket with its treasure inside; but now the casket was empty, and the lock was broken. Left groping in darkness, with his prop utterly gone, Silas had inevitably a sense, though a dull and half-despairing one, that if any help came to him it must come from without; and there was a slight stirring of expectation at the sight of his fellow-men, a faint consciousness of dependence on their goodwill.
It is seldom that the miserable can help regarding their misery as a wrong inflicted by those who are less miserable.
She was perfectly quiet now, but not asleep — only soothed by sweet porridge and warmth into that wide-gazing calm which makes us older human beings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certain awe in the presence of a little child, such as we feel before some quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky — before a steady glowing planet, or a full-flowered eglantine, or the bending trees over a silent pathway.
In old days there were angels who came and took men by the hand and led them away from the city of destruction. We see no white-winged angels now. But yet men are led away from threatening destruction: a hand is put into theirs, which leads them forth gently towards a calm and bright land, so that they look no more backward; and the hand may be a little child's.
Jealousy is never satisfied with anything short of an omniscience that would detect the subtlest fold of the heart.
Nothing is so good as it seems beforehand - ...
That quiet mutual gaze of a trusting husband and wife is like the first moment of rest or refuge from a great weariness or a great danger — not to be interfered with by speech or action which would distract the sensations from the fresh enjoyment of repose.
when a man had deserved his good luck, it was the part of his neighbours to wish him joy.
Our deeds are like children that are born to us; they live and act apart from our own will. Nay, children may be strangled, but deeds never: they have an indestructible life both in and out of our consciousness;
Tito was experiencing that inexorable law of human souls, that we prepare ourselves for sudden deeds by the reiterated choice of good or evil that gradually determines character.
What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?
Love does not aim simply at the conscious good of the beloved object: it is not satisfied without perfect loyalty of heart; it aims at its own completeness.
But veracity is a plant of paradise, and the seeds have never flourished beyond the walls.
An ass may bray a good while before he shakes the stars down.
Whether happiness may come or not, one should try and prepare one's self to do without it.
Truth is the precious harvest of the earth. Until men said, What profits it to sow?
We mortals sometimes cut a pitiable figure in our attempts at display. We may be sure of our own merits, yet fatally ignorant of the point of view from which we are regarded by our neighbour. Our fine patterns in tattooing may be far from throwing him into a swoon of admiration, though we turn ourselves all round to show them.
But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.
[Mr Johnson] "You know what a Tory is – one who wants to drive the working men as he'd drive cattle."
[Christian] ... he felt very much like an uninitiated chess-player who sees that the pieces are in a peculiar position on the board, and might open the way for him to give checkmate, if he only knew how.
So our lives glide on: the river ends we don't know where, and the sea begins, and then there is no more jumping ashore.
O may I join the choir invisible To vaster issues.
So to live is heaven: With growing sway the growing life of man.
Creeds of terror.
A serious ape whom none take seriously,By hard buffoonery.
His smile is sweetened by his gravity.
Certain winds will make men's temper bad.
It is very hard to say the exact truth, even about your own immediate feelings – much harder than to say something fine about them which is not the exact truth.
Sad as a wasted passion.
Knightly love is blent with reverenceAs heavenly air is blent with heavenly blue.
Inclination snatches argumentsTo make indulgence seem judicious choice.
Little children are still the symbol of the eternal marriage between love and duty.
Perhaps the windFor what has been and is not.
There comes a night when all too late Buried ere death in silent helplessness.
Little children are still the symbol of the eternal marriage between love and duty.
While the arm is strong to strike and heave, Let soul and arm give shape that will abide...
Lamech's sons were heroes of their race: Mildly secure in power that needs not guile.
Jubal had a frame For lack of speech to tell us they are glad.
Jubal sat lonely, all around was dim, Yet his face glowed with light revealed to him
Such patience have the heroes who begin, Of the world's harvest, make one poor small lyre.
You should read history and look at ostracism, persecution, martyrdom, and that kind of thing. They always happen to the best men, you know.
It is never too late to be what you might have been.
No farther will I travel: once again "'Tis he!" and run to greet me, welcoming.
Animals are such agreeable friends - they ask no questions; they pass no criticisms.
No eye saw him, while with loving pride Of all the hymning train was present there.
The strongest principle of growth lies in the human choice.
He said within his soul, "'This is the end: So of my mighty years nought comes to me again".
It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses we must plant more trees.
I see a face of love, That past unchangeable, from change still wrought.
Wear a smile and have friends; wear a scowl and have wrinkles.
"Jubal," the face said, "I am thy loved Past, Who blest thy lot above all men's beside?
I'm not denyin' the women are foolish. God Almighty made 'em to match the men.
With thy coming Melody was come. A seed primeval that has forests bred.
Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.
It is the glory of the heritage For too much wealth amid their poverty.
Our deeds still travel with us from afar, and what we have been makes us what we are.
Failure after long perseverance is much grander than never to have a striving good enough to be called a failure.
That Spanish woman who lived three hundred years ago, was certainly not the last of her kind. 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.
Adventure is not outside man; it is within.
Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress.
It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger after them.
Sane people did what their neighbors did, so that if any lunatics were at large, one might know and avoid them.
Death is the king of this world: 'Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.
If youth is the season of hope, it is often so only in the sense that our elders are hopeful about us; for no age is so apt as youth to think its emotions, partings, and resolves are the last of their kind. Each crisis seems final, simply because it is new.
Jealousy is never satisfied with anything short of an omniscience that would detect the subtlest fold of the heart.
What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?
Truth has rough flavours if we bite it through.
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.
Little children are still the symbol of the eternal marriage between love and duty.
People glorify all sorts of bravery except the bravery they might show on behalf of their nearest neighbors.
What makes life dreary is the want of a motive.
One must be poor to know the luxury of giving!
The important work of moving the world forward does not wait to be done by perfect men.
There is only one failure in life possible, and that is not to be true to the best one knows.
It was entirely from worldly vanity that you destined him for the Church: with a family of three sons and four daughters, you were not warranted in devoting money to an expensive education which has succeeded in nothing but in giving him extravagant idle habits. You are now reaping the consequences.’
Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.
‘I suppose a woman is never in love with any one she has always known— ever since she can remember; as a man often is. It is always some new fellow who strikes a girl.’
Blessed is the influence of one true, loving human soul on another.
I think any hardship is better than pretending to do what one is paid for, and never really doing it.
He was like a cock who thought the sun had risen to hear him crow.
The only failure one should fear, is not hugging to the purpose they see as best.
The world would have a new dreariness for her, as a wilderness that a magician’s spells had turned for a little while into a garden.
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.
In all failures, the beginning is certainly the half of the whole.
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.
There could have been no more complete answer than that silence, and Lydgate, forgetting everything else, completely mastered by the outrush of tenderness at the sudden belief that this sweet young creature depended on him for her joy, actually put his arms round her, folding her gently and protectingly— he was used to being gentle with the weak and suffering—and kissed each of the two large tears. This was a strange way of arriving at an understanding, but it was a short way.
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
Every limit is a beginning as well as an ending. Who can quit young lives after being long in company with them, and not desire to know what befell them in their after-years? For the fragment of a life, however typical, is not the sample of an even web: promises may not be kept, and an ardent outset may be followed by declension; latent powers may find their long-waited opportunity; a past error may urge a grand retrieval.
Failure after long perseverance is much grander than never to have a striving good enough to be called a failure.
Marriage, which has been the bourne of so many narratives, is still a great beginning, as it was to Adam and Eve, who kept their honeymoon in Eden, but had their first little one among the thorns and thistles of the wilderness. It is still the beginning of the home epic — the gradual conquest or irremediable loss of that complete union which makes the advancing years a climax, and age the harvest of sweet memories in common.
Cruelty, like every other vice, requires no motive outside of itself; it only requires opportunity.
Some set out, like Crusaders of old, with a glorious equipment of hope and enthusiasm and get broken by the way, wanting patience with each other and the world.
Excellence encourages one about life generally; it shows the spiritual wealth of the world.
Rome - the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar.
But what a voice! It was like the voice of a soul that had once lived in an Aeolian harp.
Great things are not done by impulse, but by a series of small things brought together.
It is true that an observer, under that softening influence of the fine arts which makes other people’s hardships picturesque, might have been delighted with this homestead called Freeman’s End.
I like not only to be loved, but also to be told I am loved.
What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other? I cannot be indifferent to the troubles of a man who advised me in my trouble, and attended me in my illness.
Every woman is supposed to have the same set of motives, or else to be a monster.
I should like to know what is the proper function of women, if it is not to make reasons for husbands to stay at home, and still stronger reasons for bachelors to go out.
But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.
Our words have wings, but fly not where we would.
‘Why, what can a man do when he takes to adoring one of you mermaids? He only neglects his work and runs up bills.’
Marriage must be a relation either of sympathy or of conquest.
It is in these acts called trivialities that the seeds of joy are forever wasted, until men and women look round with haggard faces at the devastation their own waste has made, and say, the earth bears no harvest of sweetness—calling their denial knowledge.
But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.
An accomplished woman almost always knows more than we men, though her knowledge is of a different sort. I am sure you could teach me a thousand things--as an exquisite bird could teach a bear if there were any common language between them. Happily, there is a common language between women and men, and so the bears can get taught.
When death comes it is never our tenderness that we repent from, but our severity.
But a morbid consciousness that others did not give him the place which he had not demonstrably merited—a perpetual suspicious conjecture that the views entertained of him were not to his advantage— a melancholy absence of passion in his efforts at achievement, and a passionate resistance to the confession that he had achieved nothing.
You may try but you can never imagine what it is to have a man's form of genius in you, and to suffer the slavery of being a girl.
It was a room where you had no reason for sitting in one place rather than in another.
Hostesses who entertain much must make up their parties as ministers make up their cabinets, on grounds other than personal liking.
The best augury of a man's success in his profession is that he thinks it the finest in the world.
The beginning of an acquaintance whether with persons or things is to get a definite outline of our ignorance.
The mother's yearning, that completest type of the life in another life which is the essence of real human love, feels the presence of the cherished child even in the debased, degraded man.
There is only one failure in life possible, and that is not to be true to the best one knows.
He was like a cock who thought the sun had risen to hear him crow.
A difference of taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections.
The only failure one should fear, is not hugging to the purpose they see as best.
It is good to be unselfish and generous; but don't carry that too far. It will not do to give yourself to be melted down for the benefit of the tallow-trade; you must know where to find yourself.
We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.
The miller's daughter of fourteen could not believe that high gentry behaved badly to their wives, but her mother instructed her — "Oh, child, men's men: gentle or simple, they're much of a muchness..."
No evil dooms us hopelessly except the evil we love, and desire to continue in, and make no effort to escape from.
Vanity is as ill at ease under indifference as tenderness is under a love which it cannot return . . .
Life began with waking up and loving my mother's face.
Gossip is a sort of smoke that comes from the dirty tobacco-pipes of of those who diffuse it: it proves nothing but the bad taste of the smoker.
What do we live for, if not to make life less difficult for each other?
Ignorance gives one a large range of probabilities.
Blessed is the man, who having nothing to say, abstains from giving wordy evidence of the fact.
I say that the strongest principle of growth lies in human choice.
Truth has rough flavours if we bite it through.
There are many victories worse than a defeat.
You know nothing about Hope, that immortal, delicious maiden forever courted forever propitious, whom fools have called deceitful, as if it were Hope that carried the cup of disappointment, whereas it is her deadly enemy, Certainty, whom she only escapes by transformation.
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.
There's no disappointment in memory, and one's exaggerations are always on the good side.
What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?
Those who trust us educate us.
Poetry and art and knowledge are sacred and pure.
Consequences are unpitying.
There is a great deal of unmapped country within us which would have to be taken into account in an explanation of our gusts and storms.
The years between fifty and seventy are the hardest. You are always being asked to do things, and yet you are not decrepit enough to turn them down.
I began … to watch with peculiar alarm lest what I called my philosophic estimate of the human lot in general, should be a mere prose lyric expressing my own pain and consequent bad temper.
Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.
Examining the world in order to find consolation is very much like looking carefully over the pages of a great book in order to find our own name. … Whether we find what we want or not, our preoccupation has hindered us from a true knowledge of the contents.
It is a narrow mind which cannot look at a subject from various points of view.
… that modern sect of Flagellants who make a ritual of lashing — not themselves but — all their neighbours.
Rome - the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar.
It is easy to say how we love new friends, and what we think of them, but words can never trace out all the fibers that knit us to the old.
If we had a keen vision of all that is ordinary in human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow or the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which is the other side of silence.
Different taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections.
An ass may bray a good while before he shakes the stars down.
There is a sort of jealousy which needs very little fire; it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism.
Whether happiness may come or not, one should try and prepare one's self to do without it.
The world is full of hopeful analogies and handsome, dubious eggs, called possibilities.
Little children are still the symbol of the eternal marriage between love and duty.
Knowledge slowly builds up what Ignorance in an hour pulls down.
Falsehood is easy, truth so difficult.
I have the conviction that excessive literary production is a social offence.
Perhaps the most delightful friendships are those in which there is much agreement, much disputation, and yet more personal liking.
Iteration, like friction, is likely to generate heat instead of progress.
What do we live for, if not to make life less difficult for each other?
It is always fatal to have music or poetry interrupted.
Great things are not done by impulse, but by a series of small things brought together.
Is it not rather what we expect in men, that they should have numerous strands of experience lying side by side and never compare them with each other?
Different taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections.
Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love.
It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses we must plant more trees.
Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love.
I'm proof against that word failure. I've seen behind it. The only failure a man ought to fear is failure of cleaving to the purpose he sees to be best.
Life began with waking up and loving my mother's face.
