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The stench of the trail of Ego in our History. It is ego - ego, the fountain cry, origin, sole source of war.
George Meredith
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George Meredith
Age: 81 †
Born: 1828
Born: February 12
Died: 1909
Died: May 18
Novelist
Poet
Prosaist
Writer
Portsmouth
England
Sole
Ego
Cry
Stench
Source
Trail
War
Trails
History
Fountain
Origin
Patriotism
More quotes by George Meredith
Heiresses are never jilted.
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Perfect simplicity is unconsciously audacious.
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A house with a great wine stored below lives in our imagination as a joyful house, fast and splendidly rooted in the soil.
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How many a thing which we cast to the ground, When others pick it up, becomes a gem!
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Behold the life at ease it drifts, The sharpened life commands its course.
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When I was quite a boy I had a spasm of religion which lasted six weeks... But I never since have swallowed the Christian fable.
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Who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered.
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Sentimentalists are they who seek to enjoy without incurring the Immense Debtorship for a thing done.
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I expect Woman will be the last thing civilized by Man.
George Meredith
What a woman thinks of women is the test of her nature.
George Meredith
She [Comedy] it is who proposes the correcting of pretentiousness, of inflation, of dulness, and of the vestiges of rawness and grossness to be found among us. She is the ultimate civilizer, the polisher, a sweet cook.
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The sun is coming down to earth, and the fields and the waters shout to him golden shouts.
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That rarest gift to Beauty, Common Sense!
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The well of true wit is truth itself.
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Woman's reason is in the milk of her breasts.
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We are betrayed by what is false within
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God's rarest blessing is, after all, a good woman!
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Days, when the ball of our vision Had eagles that flew unabashed to sun When the graps on the bow was decision, And arrow and hand and eye were one When the Pleasures, like waves to a swimmer, Came heaving for rapture ahead! - Invoke them, they dwindle, they glimmer As lights over mounds of the dead.
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A woman who is not quite a fool will forgive your being but a man, if you are surely that. . .
George Meredith
Earth, the mother of all, Moves on her stedfast way, Gathering, flinging, sowing. Mortals, we live in her day, She in her children is growing.
George Meredith
