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He shrank from hearing Margaret's very name mentioned he, while he blamed her--while he was jealous of her--while he renounced her--he loved her sorely, in spite of himself.

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
Mentioned
Jealous
Spite
Hearing
Shrank
Loved
Sorely
Name
Renounced
Names
Blamed
Margaret

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It seems strange to think, that what gives us most hope for the future should be called Dolores, said Margaret.
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I would not trust a mouse to a woman if a man's judgment could be had.
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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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I do not look on self-indulgent, sensual people as worthy of my hatred I simply look upon them with contempt for their poorness of character.
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What's the use of watching? A watched pot never boils.
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Oh dear! A drunken infidel weaver! said Mr. Hale to himself.
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But the monotonous life led by invalids often makes them like children, inasmuch as thy have neither of them any sense of proportion in events, and seem each to believe that the walls and curtains which shut in their world, and shut out everything else, must of necessity be larger than anything hidden beyond.
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It is odd enough to see how the entrance of a person of the opposite sex into an assemblage of either men or women calms down the little discordances and the disturbance of mood.
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But the future must be met, however stern and iron it be.
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Only you're right in saying she's too good an opinion of herself to think of you. The saucy jade! I should like to know where she'd find a better!
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I wanted to see the place where Margaret grew to what she is, even at the worst time of all, when I had no hope of ever calling her mine.
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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.
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I could wish there were a God, if it were only to ask him to bless thee.
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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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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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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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What other people may think of the rightness or wrongness is nothing in comparison to my own deep knowledge, my innate conviction that it was wrong.
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Well, He had known what love was-a sharp pang, a fierce experience, in the midst of whose flames he was struggling! but, through that furnace he would fight his way out into the serenity of middle age,-all the richer and more human for having known this great passion.
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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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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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