He seemed to weave, like the spider, from pure impulse, without reflection. Every man's work, pursued steadily, tends in this way to become an end in… - George Eliot

Every man's work, pursued steadily, tends to become an end in itself, and so to bridge over the loveless chasms of his life.

Such young unfurrowed souls roll to meet each other like two velvet peaches that touch softly and are at rest; they mingle as easily as two brooklets that ask for nothing but to entwine themselves and ripple with ever-interlacing curves in the leafiest hiding-places.

Selfish — a judgment readily passed by those who have never tested their own power of sacrifice.

Deep, unspeakable suffering may well be called a baptism, a regeneration, the initiation into a new state.