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, in thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, and with their mild persistence urge men's search to vaster issues.
George EliotA mother's yearning feels the presence of the cherished child even in the degraded man.
George EliotThere are natures in which, if they love us, we are conscious of having a sort of baptism and consecration.
George EliotDeath is the only physician, the shadow of his valley the only journeying that will cure us of age and the gathering fatigue of years.
George Eliot