I protest against any absolute conclusion.

Love is frightened at the intervals of insensibility and callousness that encroach by little and little on the domain of grief, and it makes efforts to recall the keenness of the first anguish.

We have all got to exert ourselves a little to keep sane, and call things by the same names as other people call them by.

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.

Time, like money, is measured by our needs.

Things are achieved when they are well begun.

I wish always to be quoted as George Eliot.