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The man of science is nothing if not a poet gone wrong.

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
Nothing
Men
Poet
Poetry
Gone
Wrong
Science

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What a woman thinks of women is the test of her nature.
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That rarest gift to Beauty, Common Sense!
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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.
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Faith works miracles. At least it allows time for them.
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A human act once set in motion flows on forever to the great account. Our deathlessness is in what we do, not in what we are.
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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.
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We are betrayed by what is false within
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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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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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A woman who is not quite a fool will forgive your being but a man, if you are surely that. . .
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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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The sun is coming down to earth, and the fields and the waters shout to him golden shouts.
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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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Woman's reason is in the milk of her breasts.
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Who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered.
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The well of true wit is truth itself.
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There is nothing the body suffers which the soul may not profit by.
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Among the Diaries beginning with the second quarter of our century, there is frequent mention of a lady then becoming famous for her beauty and her wit: an unusual combination, in the deliberate syllables of one of the writers, who is, however, not disposed to personal irony when speaking of her.
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The most dire disaster in love is the death of imagination.
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Full lasting is the song, though he, / The singer, passes.
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