In daylight I belong to the world . . . in the night to sleep and eternity. But in the dusk I'm free from both and belong only to myself . . . and you

Put those pistols down at once,’ he said coldly. ‘Do not you know it is very rude to point a pistol at a person you do not mean to kill? For shame, Villiers. Where were you brought up?

Happiness grows at our own firesides, and is not to be picked in strangers’ gardens.

Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us wordy evidence of the fact.

Written By George Eliot

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