Felix Holt, the radical, by George Eliot, Volume 1

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Page 93 - For though I would desire to glory, I shall not be a fool : for I will say the truth: but now I forbear, lest any man should think of me above that which he seeth me to be, or that he heareth of me.
Page 12 - ... 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.
Page 70 - ... there is no private life which has not been determined by a wider public life, from the time when the primeval milkmaid had to wander with the wanderings of her clan, because the cow she milked was one of a herd which had made the pastures bare.
Page 261 - 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.
Page 55 - She, poor woman, knew quite well that she had been unwise, and that she had been making herself disagreeable to Harold to no purpose. But half the sorrows of women would be averted if they could repress the speech they know to be useless — nay, the speech they have resolved not to utter.
Page 314 - Job was a small fellow about five, with a germinal nose, large round blue eyes, and red hair that curled close to his head like the wool on the back of an infantine lamb.
Page 12 - ... some tragic mark of kinship in the one brief life to the far-stretching life that went before, and to the life that is to come after, such as has raised the pity and terror of men ever since they began to discern between will and destiny.
Page 5 - ... there was the pleasant tinkle of the blacksmith's anvil, tie patient cart-horses waiting at his door; the basket-maker peeling his willow wands in the sunshine; the wheelwright putting the last touch to a blue cart with red wheels; here and there a cottage with bright transparent windows showing pots full of blooming balsams or geraniums, and little gardens in front all double daisies or dark wallflowers...
Page 27 - I've held every tree sacred on the demesne, as I told you, Harold. I trusted to your getting the estate some time, and releasing it ; and I determined to keep it worth releasing. A park without fine timber is no better than a beauty without teeth and hair.
Page 101 - A fine lady is a squirrel-headed thing, with small airs, and small notions, about as applicable to the business of life as a pair of tweezers to the clearing of a forest. Ask your father what those old persecuted emigrant Puritans would have done with fine-lady wives and daughters.

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