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
One way of getting an idea of our fellow-countrymens miseries is to go and look at their pleasures. – 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
When death comes it is never our tenderness that we repent from, but our severity. – George Eliot