But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope. – George Eliot
For what is love itself, for the one we love best? An enfolding of immeasurable cares which yet are better than any joys outside our love. – George Eliot
But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope. – George Eliot
For what is love itself, for the one we love best? An enfolding of immeasurable cares which yet are better than any joys outside our love. – George Eliot
When death, the great reconciler, has come, it is never our tenderness that we repent of, but our severity. – George Eliot