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How will you find good? It is not a thing of choice it is a river that flows from the foot of the Invisible Throne and flows by the path of obedience.

George Eliot

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George Eliot
Age: 61 †
Born: 1819
Born: November 22
Died: 1880
Died: December 22
Editor
Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
Philosopher
Poet
Translator
Writer
Mary Anne Evans
Mary Ann Evans
Marian Evans
Mary Anne Evans Cross
Mary Anne Cross
Path
Foot
Choices
River
Find
Obedience
Thing
Invisible
Good
Rivers
Flow
Throne
Choice
Thrones
Feet
Flows

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So deeply inherent is it in this life of ours that men have to suffer for each other's sins, so inevitably diffusive is human suffering, that even justice makes its victims, and we can conceive no retribution that does not spread beyond its mark in pulsations of unmerited pain.
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A difference of taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections.
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What is your religion? I mean-not what you know about religion but the belief that helps you most?
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No story is the same to us after a lapse of time or rather we who read it are no longer the same interpreters.
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When we are young we think our troubles a mighty business - that the world is spread out expressly as a stage for the particular drama of our lives and that we have a right to rant and foam at the mouth if we are crossed. I have done enough of that in my time.
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I easily sink into mere absorption of what other minds have done, and should like a whole life for that alone.
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We are all of us born in moral stupidity, taking the world as an udder to feed our supreme selves
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Alas! the scientific conscience had got into the debasing company of money obligation and selfish respects.
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There are few of us that are not rather ashamed of our sins and follies as we look out on the blessed morning sunlight, which comes to us like a bright-winged angel beckoning us to quit the old path of vanity that stretches its dreary length behind us.
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The very truth hath a colour from the disposition of the utterer.
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The wrong that rouses our angry passions finds only a medium in us it passes through us like a vibration, and we inflict what we have suffered.
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I found it better for my soul to be humble before the mysteries o' God's dealings, and not be making a clatter about what I could never understand.
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Perhaps the wind Wails so in winter for the summers dead, And all sad sounds are nature's funeral cries For what has been and is not.
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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.
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... indefinite visions of ambition are weak against the ease of doing what is habitual or beguilingly agreeable.
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As to memory, it is known that this frail faculty naturally lets drop the facts which are less flattering to our self-love - when it does not retain them carefully as subjects not to be approached, marshy spots with a warning flag over them.
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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.
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I've had my say out, and I shall be the' easier for't all my life. There's no pleasure i' living, if you're to be corked up forever, and only dribble your mind out by the sly, like a leaky barrel.
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Habit is the beneficent harness of routine which enables silly men to live respectfully and unhappy men to live calmly
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For character too is a process and an unfolding. . . among our valued friends is there not someone or other who is a little too self confident and disdainful. . . .
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