But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope. – George Eliot
Death is the king of this world: Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet. – George Eliot
But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope. – George Eliot
Death is the king of this world: Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet. – George Eliot
It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses we must plant more trees. – George Eliot
Of what use, however, is a general certainty that an insect will not walk with his head hindmost, when what you need to know is the play of inward stimulus that sends him hither and thither in a network of possible paths? – George Eliot
I worked at my high school newspaper at Andover, which came out weekly, unusual for a high school paper. Then my first day at Penn I went right to the Daily Pennsylvanian and pretty much spent most of my college career working both as the sports editor and then editor of the editorial page. – H. G. Bissinger