George Eliot Quotes About Morning

• Most of us who turn to any subject we love remember some morning or evening hour when we got on a high stool to reach down an untried volume, or sat with parted lips listening to a new talker, or for very lack of books began to listen to the voices within, as the first traceable beginning of our love.

  George Eliot

  Love, Morning, Book

  George Eliot (2005). “Four Novels of George Eliot”, p.467, Wordsworth Editions

• There is much pain that is quite noiseless; and vibrations that make human agonies are often a mere whisper in the roar of hurrying existence. There are glances of hatred that stab and raise no cry of murder; robberies that leave man or woman for ever beggared of peace and joy, yet kept secret by the sufferer --committed to no sound except that of low moans in the night, seen in no writing except that made on the face by the slow months of suppressed anguish and early morning tears. Many an inherited sorrow that has marred a life has been breathed into no human ear.

  George Eliot

  Peace, Morning, Pain

  "Felix Holt, the Radical". Book by George Eliot. Introductory chapter, 1866.

• Perhaps there is no time in a summer's day more cheering, than when the warmth of the sun is just beginning to triumph over the freshness of the morning--when there is just a lingering hint of early coolness to keep off languor under the delicious influence of warmth.

  George Eliot

  Summer, Morning, Cheer

  George Eliot (2005). “Four Novels of George Eliot”, p.149, Wordsworth Editions

• So much of our early gladness vanishes utterly from our memory: we can never recall the joy with which we laid our heads on our mother's bosom or rode on our father's back in childhood; doubtless that joy is wrought up into our nature, as the sunlight of long-past mornings is wrought up in the soft mellowness of the apricot; but it is gone forever from our imagination, and we can only believe in the joy of childhood.

  George Eliot

  Mother, Morning, Memories

  George Eliot (2005). “Four Novels of George Eliot”, p.157, Wordsworth Editions

• ... it is one of the gains of advancing age that the good of young creatures becomes a more definite intense joy to us. With that renunciation for ourselves which age inevitably brings, we get more freedom of soul to enter into the life of others; what we can never learn they will know, and the gladness which is a departed sunlight to us is rising with the strength of morning to them.

  George Eliot

  Morning, Joy, Soul

  George Eliot (1860). “Life and Letters”, p.603

• There is no hour that has not its births of gladness and despair, no morning brightness that does not bring new sickness to desolation as well as new forces to genius and love. There are so many of us, and our lots are so different, what wonder that Nature's mood is often in harsh contrast with the great crisis of our lives?

  George Eliot

  Morning, Balance, Despair

  George Eliot (2016). “Adam Bede”, p.316, George Eliot

• All things journey: sun and moon, Morning, noon, and afternoon, Night and all her stars; 'Twixt the east and western bars Round they journey, Come and go! We go with them!

  George Eliot

  Morning, Stars, Night

  George Eliot (2016). “Complete Works Of George Eliot”, p.2740, ShandonPress

• Love is such a simple thing when we have only one-and-twenty summers and a sweet girl of seventeen trembles under our glance, as if she were a bud first opening her heart with wondering rapture to the morning. Such young unfurrowed souls roll to meet each other like two velvet peaches that touch softly and are at rest; they mingle as easily as two brooklets that ask for nothing but to entwine themselves and ripple with ever-interlacing curves in the leafiest hiding-places.

  George Eliot

  Love, Summer, Girl

  George Eliot (2016). “Adam Bede: Top Novelist Focus”, p.113, 谷月社

• There are few of us that are not rather ashamed of our sins and follies as we look out on the blessed morning sunlight, which comes to us like a bright-winged angel beckoning us to quit the old path of vanity that stretches its dreary length behind us.

  George Eliot

  Morning, Blessed, Angel

  George Eliot (2016). “Complete Works Of George Eliot”, p.133, ShandonPress

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