276 ordspråk av George Eliot
George Eliot
In all private quarrels the duller nature is triumphant by reason of dullness
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In every parting there is an image of death
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In old days there were angels who came and took men by the hand and led them away from the city of destruction. We see no white-winged angels now. But yet men are led away from threatening destruction: a hand is put into theirs, which leads them forth gently towards a calm and bright land, so that they look no more backward; and the hand may be a little child's.
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In spite of his practical ability, some of his experience had petrified into maxims and quotations.
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In the love of a brave and faithful man there is always a strain of maternal tenderness; he gives out again those beams of protecting fondness which were shed on him as he lay on his mother's knee
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In the multitude of middle-aged men who go about their vocations in a daily course determined for them much in the same way as the tie of their cravats, there is always a good number who once meant to shape their own deeds and alter the world a little.
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In the schoolroom her quick mind had taken readily that strong starch of unexplained rules and disconnected facts which saves ignorance from any painful sense of limpness.
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Instead of trying to still his fears, he encouraged them, with that superstitious impression which clings to us all, that if we expect evil very strongly it is the less likely to come . . .
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Is it not rather what we expect in men, that they should have numerous strands of experience lying side by side and never compare them with each other?
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It always remains true that if we had been greater, circumstance would have been less strong against us.
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It always seemed to me a sort of clever stupidity only to have one sort of talent - like a carrier pigeon
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It is a common enough case, that of a man being suddenly captivated by a woman nearly the opposite of his ideal.
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It is easy finding reasons why other folks should be patient
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It is easy to say how we love new friends, and what we think of them, but words can never trace out all the fibers that knit us to the old.
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It is generally a feminine eye that first detects the moral deficiencies hidden under the ''dear deceit'' of beauty.
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