Elizabeth Gaskell
Elizabeth Gaskell
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell,, often referred to as Mrs Gaskell, was an English novelist and short story writer during the Victorian era. Her novels offer a detailed portrait of the lives of many strata of society, including the very poor, and are of interest to social historians as well as lovers of literature. Her first novel, Mary Barton, was published in 1848. Gaskell's The Life of Charlotte Brontë, published in 1857, was the first biography about Brontë. Some of Gaskell's best...
NationalityBritish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth29 September 1810
The cloud never comes from the quarter of the horizon from which we watch for it.
I am so tired - so tired of being of being whirled on through all these phases of my life, in which nothing abides by me, no creature, no place; it is like the circle in which the victims of earthly passion eddy continually.
Margaret the Churchwoman, her father the Dissenter, Higgins the Infidel, knelt down together. It did them no harm.
She had a bracelet on one taper arm, which would fall down over her round wrist. Mr. Thornton watched the replacing of this troublesome ornament with far more attention than he listened to her father. It seemed as if it fascinated him to see her push it up impatiently, until it tightened her soft flesh; and then to mark the loosening—the fall. He could almost have exclaimed—'There it goes, again!
I dare say there's many a woman makes as sad a mistake as I have done, and only finds it out too late.
Nevertheless, his moustachios are splendid.
As she realized what might have been, she grew to be thankful for what was.
She thought in would be awkward for both to be brought into conscious collision; and fancied that, from her being on a low seat at first, and now standing behind her father, he had overlooked her in his haste. As if he did not feel the consciousness of her presence all over, though his eyes had never rested on her!
There is always a pleasure in unravelling a mystery, in catching at the gossamer clue which will guide to certainty.
A solitary life cherishes mere fancies until they become manias.
What's the use of watching? A watched pot never boils ...
Th' longest lane will have a turning ...
Waiting is far more difficult than doing.
I would not trust a mouse to a woman if a man's judgment could be had.