When death, the great reconciler, has come, it is never our tenderness that we repent of, but our severity. – George Eliot
The best augury of a mans success in his profession is that he thinks it the finest in the world. – 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
There are some cases in which the sense of injury breeds — not the will to inflict injuries and climb over them as a ladder, but — a hatred of all injury. – George Eliot