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There is nothing like wounded affection for giving poignancy to anger.

Elizabeth Gaskell

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Elizabeth Gaskell
Age: 54 †
Born: 1810
Born: September 29
Died: 1865
Died: January 12
Biographer
Novelist
Writer
London
England
Author of Mary Barton
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
Elizabeth Cleghorn Stevenson
Mrs. Gaskell
née Stevenson
Anger
Father
Nothing
Giving
Like
Poignancy
Wounded
Affection

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I do try to say, God’s will be done, sir,” said the Squire, looking up at Mr. Gibson for the first time, and speaking with more life in his voice “but it’s harder to be resigned than happy people think.
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Margaret found that the indifferent, careless conversations of one who, however kind, was not too warm and anxious a sympathizer, did her good.
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People may flatter themselves just as much by thinking that their faults are always present to other people's minds, as if they believe that the world is always contemplating their individual charms and virtues.
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A great matter calls her son with terms like deal, and love.
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I wish I could love people as you do, Molly!' 'Don't you?' said the other, in surprise. 'No. A good number of people love me, I believe, or at least they think they do but I never seem to care much for any one. I do believe I love you, little Molly, whom I have only known for ten days, better than any one.
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Man, through all ages of revolving time, Unchanging man, in every varying clime, Deems his own land of every land the pride, Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside Home, the spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.
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Sometimes one likes foolish people for their folly, better than wise people for their wisdom.
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I am the mother that bore you, and your sorrow is my agony and if you don't hate her, i do' Then, mother, you make me love her more. She is unjustly treated by you, and I must make the balance even.
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And so she shuddered away from the threat of his enduring love. What did he mean? Had she not the power to daunt him? She would see. It was more daring than became a man to threaten her.
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He could not - say rather, he would not - deny himself the chance of the pleasure of seeing Margaret. He had no end in this but the present gratification.
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As she realized what might have been, she grew to be thankful for what was.
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I don't believe there's a man in Milton who knows how to sit still and it is a great art.
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She never called her son by any name but John 'love' and 'dear', and such like terms, were reserved for Fanny.
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He is my first olive: let me make a face while I swallow it.
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Oh, I can't describe my home. It is home, and I can't put its charm into words
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He came up straight to her father, whose hands he took and wrung without a word - holding them in his for a minute or two, during which time his face, his eyes, his look, told of more sympathy than could be put into words.
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Mrs Forrester ... sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes were sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew, and we knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy all the morning making tea-bread and sponge-cakes.
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He loved her, and would love her and defy her, and this miserable bodily pain.
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I take it that 'gentleman' is a term that only describes a person in his relation to others but when we speak of him as 'a man,' we consider him not merely with regard to his fellow-men, but in relation to himself,--to life--to time--to eternity.
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If they came sorrowing, and wanting sympathy in a complicated trouble like the present, then they would be felt as a shadow in all these houses of intimate acquaintances, not friends
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