George Eliot Quotes

English novelist, essayist, poet and journalist (1819–1880)

George Eliot (born Mary Ann Evans; 22 November 1819 – 22 December 1880) was an English novelist and poet. Despite the strong social customs of her times against such arrangements, she lived unmarried with fellow writer George Henry Lewes‎‎ for over 20 years.

From: Wikiquote (CC BY-SA 4.0)

Birth Name: Mary Anne Evans

Native Name: Mary Ann Evans • Marian Evans

Alternative Names: Mary Anne Evans Cross • Mary Anne Cross • Marian Cross

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These bitter sorrows of childhood! when sorrow is all new and strange, when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, and the space from summer to summer seems measureless.

Better spend an extra hundred or two on your son's education, than leave it him in your will.

How lovely the little river is, with its dark changing wavelets! It seems to me like a living companion while I wander along the bank, and listen to its low, placid voice . . .

I've never any pity for conceited people, because I think they carry their comfort about with them.

I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs, and ideas into my brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music.

I should like to know what is the proper function of women, if it is not to make reasons for husbands to stay at home, and still stronger reasons for bachelors to go out.

The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.

Our life is determined for us — and it makes the mind very free when we give up wishing and only think of bearing what is laid upon us and doing what is given us to do.

Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love...

Howiver, I'm not denyin' the women are foolish: God Almighty made 'em to match the men.

He was like a cock who thought the sun had risen to hear him crow.

Come in, Adam, and rest; it has been a hard day for thee.

You told me the truth when you said to me once, "There's a sort of wrong that can never be made up for".

They kissed each other with a deep joy. What greater thing is there for two human souls, than to feel that they are joined for life — to strengthen each other in all labour, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting?

How is it that the poets have said so many fine things about our first love, so few about our later love? Are their first poems their best? Or are not those the best which come from their fuller thought, their larger experience, their deeper-rooted affections?