George Eliot

Lamech's sons were heroes of their race: Jubal, the eldest, bore upon his face The look of that calm river-god, the Nile, Mildly secure in power that needs not guile.

While the arm is strong to strike and heave, Let soul and arm give shape that will abide...

There comes a night when all too late The mind shall long to prompt the achieving hand, The eager thought behind closed portals stand, And the last wishes to the mute lips press Buried ere death in silent helplessness.

He never had a doubt that such gods were; He looked within, and saw them mirrored there.

When Cain was driven from Jehovah's land He wandered eastward, seeking some far strand Ruled by kind gods who asked no offerings Save pure field-fruits

Perhaps the wind Wails so in winter for the summers dead, And all sad sounds are nature's funeral cries For what has been and is not.

Inclination snatches arguments To make indulgence seem judicious choice.

Knightly love is blent with reverence As heavenly air is blent with heavenly blue.

Sad as a wasted passion.

His smile is sweetened by his gravity.

A serious ape whom none take seriously, Obliged in this fool's world to earn his nuts By hard buffoonery.

So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world.

This is life to come, — Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow.

So to live is heaven: To make undying music in the world, Breathing a beauteous order that controls With growing sway the growing life of man.

O may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self,

So our lives glide on: the river ends we don't know where, and the sea begins, and then there is no more jumping ashore.

[Christian] ... he felt very much like an uninitiated chess-player who sees that the pieces are in a peculiar position on the board, and might open the way for him to give checkmate, if he only knew how.

[Mr Johnson] "You know what a Tory is – one who wants to drive the working men as he'd drive cattle."

We mortals sometimes cut a pitiable figure in our attempts at display. We may be sure of our own merits, yet fatally ignorant of the point of view from which we are regarded by our neighbour. Our fine patterns in tattooing may be far from …

Truth is the precious harvest of the earth. But once, when harvest waved upon a land, The noisome cankerworm and caterpillar, Locusts, and all the swarming foul-born broods, Fastened upon it with swift, greedy jaws, And turned the harvest …

The law was sacred. Yes, but rebellion might be sacred too. It flashed upon her mind that the problem before her was essentially the same as that which had lain before Savonarola—the problem where the sacredness of obedience ended, and …

An ass may bray a good while before he shakes the stars down.

But veracity is a plant of paradise, and the seeds have never flourished beyond the walls.

Love does not aim simply at the conscious good of the beloved object: it is not satisfied without perfect loyalty of heart; it aims at its own completeness.