George Eliot
George Eliot
Mary Ann Evans, known by her pen name George Eliot, was an English novelist, poet, journalist, translator and one of the leading writers of the Victorian era. She is the author of seven novels, including Adam Bede, The Mill on the Floss, Silas Marner, Felix Holt, the Radical, Middlemarch, and Daniel Deronda, most of them set in provincial England and known for their realism and psychological insight...
NationalityBritish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth22 November 1819
wise men empty
No man can be wise on an empty stomach.
strong argument formidable
You have such strong words at command, that they make the smallest argument seem formidable.
gout rich accepting
..the rich ate and drank freely, accepting gout and apoplexy as things that ran mysteriously in respectable families...
religious taken fate
Religious ideas have the fate of melodies, which, once set afloat in the world, are taken up by all sorts of instruments, some of them woefully coarse, feeble, or out of tune, until people are in danger of crying out that the melody itself is detestable.
trouble worst ifs
If troubles were put up to market, I'd sooner buy old than new. It's something to have seen the worst.
friendship agreement delight
Perhaps the most delightful friendships are those in which there is much agreement, much disputation, and yet more personal liking.
money luxury giving
One must be poor to know the luxury of giving!
keys mystery wonder
All meanings, we know, depend on the key of interpretation.
sometimes rage nonsense
Quarrel? Nonsense; we have not quarreled. If one is not to get into a rage sometimes, what is the good of being friends?
sympathy goodbye lonely
Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.
inspirational motivational karma
Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.
consequence
Consequences are unpitying.
mind may invisible
Oh may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence.
dark rivers clouds
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.