2013
With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man’s past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavours and the tinglings of a merited shame.
George Eliot, Middlemarch (1874)
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2013
Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving wordy evidence of the fact.
George Eliot, Impressions of Theophrastus Such (1879)
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2013
Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress.
George Elliot, Middlemarch (1874)
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