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History, we know, is apt to repeat itself.
George Eliot
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George Eliot
Age: 61 †
Born: 1819
Born: November 22
Died: 1880
Died: December 22
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Mary Anne Evans
Mary Ann Evans
Marian Evans
Mary Anne Evans Cross
Mary Anne Cross
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More quotes by George Eliot
I'd sooner have one real grief on my mind than twenty false. It's better to know one's robbed than to think one's going to be murdered.
George Eliot
It is necessary to me, not simply to be but to utter, and I require utterance of my friends.
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Much of our waking experience is but a dream in the daylight.
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Hear Everything and judge for yourself
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There are new eras in one's life that are equivalent to youth-are something better than youth.
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Who can prove Wit to be witty when with deeper ground Dulness intuitive declares wit dull?
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The sublime delight of truthful speech to one who has the great gift of uttering it, will make itself felt even through the pangs of sorrow.
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To have in general but little feeling, seems to be the only security against feeling too much on any particular occasion.
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In the vain laughter of folly wisdom hears half its applause.
George Eliot
Genius is the capacity for receiving and improving by discipline.
George Eliot
In spite of his practical ability, some of his experience had petrified into maxims and quotations.
George Eliot
In the first moments when we come away from the presence of death, every other relation to the living is merged, to our feeling, in the great relation of a common nature and a common destiny.
George Eliot
Saints and martyrs had never interested Maggie so much as sages and poets.
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I am not magnanimous enough to like people who speak to me without seeming to see me
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I flutter all ways, and fly in none.
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Iteration, like friction, is likely to generate heat instead of progress.
George Eliot
What quarrel, what harshness, what unbelief in each other can subsist in the presence of a great calamity, when all the artificial vesture of our life is gone, and we are all one with each other in primitive mortal needs?
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Death is the king of this world: 'Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.
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It must be sad to outlive aught we love.
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Subtle impressions for which words are quite too coarse a medium.
George Eliot