The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when theyre gone. – George Eliot
It is in these acts called trivialities that the seeds of joy are forever wasted, until men and women look round with haggard faces at the devastation their own waste has made, and say, the earth bears no harvest of sweetness — calling their denial knowledge. – George Eliot
Category:
Author