George Eliot
@georgeeliotsays.bsky.social
The mysterious complexity of our life is not to be embraced by maxims.
Nettle-seed needs no digging.
November 26, 2025 at 4:05 PM
Nettle-seed needs no digging.
My pork-pies don’t turn out well by chance.
November 26, 2025 at 3:53 AM
My pork-pies don’t turn out well by chance.
The sight of you revives the taste of that super-excellent pork-pie.
November 26, 2025 at 3:52 AM
The sight of you revives the taste of that super-excellent pork-pie.
Nobody loses by sending me a porkpie, for my pies are fit to show with the best o’ my neighbors’.
November 26, 2025 at 3:50 AM
Nobody loses by sending me a porkpie, for my pies are fit to show with the best o’ my neighbors’.
In opposition to most people who love to read Shakspeare I like to see his plays acted better than any others: his great tragedies thrill me, let them be acted how they may.
November 25, 2025 at 3:48 PM
In opposition to most people who love to read Shakspeare I like to see his plays acted better than any others: his great tragedies thrill me, let them be acted how they may.
The bond was not an intellectual one; it came from a source that can happily blend the stupid with the brilliant.
November 24, 2025 at 3:47 PM
The bond was not an intellectual one; it came from a source that can happily blend the stupid with the brilliant.
Somehow, one is apt to read in a make-shift attitude, just where it might seem inconvenient to do so.
November 23, 2025 at 5:06 PM
Somehow, one is apt to read in a make-shift attitude, just where it might seem inconvenient to do so.
Just been t' hev a pint.
November 22, 2025 at 4:58 PM
Just been t' hev a pint.
Babies can't choose their own horoscopes.
November 21, 2025 at 6:30 PM
Babies can't choose their own horoscopes.
It is a dreadful thing to make an idiot fond of you, when you yourself are not of an affectionate disposition: especially an idiot with a pitchfork—obviously a difficult friend to shake off by rough usage.
November 20, 2025 at 4:05 PM
It is a dreadful thing to make an idiot fond of you, when you yourself are not of an affectionate disposition: especially an idiot with a pitchfork—obviously a difficult friend to shake off by rough usage.
All very well to ride on sticks at home and call them ideas.
November 19, 2025 at 11:23 PM
All very well to ride on sticks at home and call them ideas.
Surely that is a strange perversion into which men's minds have been led by long and various causes—to think that unless life can be made perfect, unless the prospects of humanity can be made to appear the very best, strong moral motives are gone!
November 19, 2025 at 4:51 PM
Surely that is a strange perversion into which men's minds have been led by long and various causes—to think that unless life can be made perfect, unless the prospects of humanity can be made to appear the very best, strong moral motives are gone!
From all we can gather, the votes are rather on the side of "The Mill" as a better book than “Adam.”
November 18, 2025 at 3:54 PM
From all we can gather, the votes are rather on the side of "The Mill" as a better book than “Adam.”
How will you know the pitch of that great bell
Too large for you to stir? Let but a flute
Play 'neath the fine-mixed metal: listen close
Till the right note flows forth, a silvery rill:
Too large for you to stir? Let but a flute
Play 'neath the fine-mixed metal: listen close
Till the right note flows forth, a silvery rill:
November 17, 2025 at 3:37 PM
How will you know the pitch of that great bell
Too large for you to stir? Let but a flute
Play 'neath the fine-mixed metal: listen close
Till the right note flows forth, a silvery rill:
Too large for you to stir? Let but a flute
Play 'neath the fine-mixed metal: listen close
Till the right note flows forth, a silvery rill:
I love words; they are the quoits, the bows, the staves that furnish the gymnasium of the mind.
November 16, 2025 at 5:12 PM
I love words; they are the quoits, the bows, the staves that furnish the gymnasium of the mind.
We insignificant people with our daily words and acts are preparing the lives of many Dorotheas.
November 15, 2025 at 4:04 PM
We insignificant people with our daily words and acts are preparing the lives of many Dorotheas.
Beginning to take a deep breath in my own element, though with a mortifying consciousness that my faculties have become superlatively obtuse.
November 14, 2025 at 7:20 PM
Beginning to take a deep breath in my own element, though with a mortifying consciousness that my faculties have become superlatively obtuse.
It would be a poor result of all our anguish and our wrestling, if we won nothing but our old selves at the end of it—
November 13, 2025 at 3:30 PM
It would be a poor result of all our anguish and our wrestling, if we won nothing but our old selves at the end of it—
A mere hyphen ‘twixt two syllables.
November 12, 2025 at 10:02 PM
A mere hyphen ‘twixt two syllables.
There are few prophets in the world; few sublimely beautiful women; few heroes. I can't afford to give all my love and reverence to such rarities:
November 12, 2025 at 4:30 PM
There are few prophets in the world; few sublimely beautiful women; few heroes. I can't afford to give all my love and reverence to such rarities:
A young enthusiast is unable to imagine the total negation in another mind of the emotions which are stirring his own.
November 11, 2025 at 8:47 PM
A young enthusiast is unable to imagine the total negation in another mind of the emotions which are stirring his own.
Are you ready?
November 11, 2025 at 2:20 AM
Are you ready?
Still, there was a deep difference between that devotion to the living and that indefinite promise of devotion to the dead.
November 10, 2025 at 3:39 PM
Still, there was a deep difference between that devotion to the living and that indefinite promise of devotion to the dead.
It is a good and soothfast saw;
Half-roasted never will be raw;
No dough is dried once more to meal,
No crock new-shapen by the wheel;
You can't turn curds to milk again,
Nor Now, by wishing, back to Then;
And having tasted stolen honey,
You can't buy innocence for money.
Half-roasted never will be raw;
No dough is dried once more to meal,
No crock new-shapen by the wheel;
You can't turn curds to milk again,
Nor Now, by wishing, back to Then;
And having tasted stolen honey,
You can't buy innocence for money.
November 8, 2025 at 5:40 PM
It is a good and soothfast saw;
Half-roasted never will be raw;
No dough is dried once more to meal,
No crock new-shapen by the wheel;
You can't turn curds to milk again,
Nor Now, by wishing, back to Then;
And having tasted stolen honey,
You can't buy innocence for money.
Half-roasted never will be raw;
No dough is dried once more to meal,
No crock new-shapen by the wheel;
You can't turn curds to milk again,
Nor Now, by wishing, back to Then;
And having tasted stolen honey,
You can't buy innocence for money.
Mr. Bulstrode, alone with his brother-in-law, poured himself out a glass of water, and opened a sandwich-box.
“I cannot persuade you to adopt my regimen, Vincy?”
“I cannot persuade you to adopt my regimen, Vincy?”
November 6, 2025 at 8:59 PM
Mr. Bulstrode, alone with his brother-in-law, poured himself out a glass of water, and opened a sandwich-box.
“I cannot persuade you to adopt my regimen, Vincy?”
“I cannot persuade you to adopt my regimen, Vincy?”