I regard it as a waste of time to think only of selling: one forgets one&#39;s art and exaggerates one&#39;s value.

A peace that depends on fear is nothing but a suppressed war.

I want to tear myself from this place, from this reality, rise up like a cloud and float away, melt into this humid summer night and dissolve somewhere far, over the hills.

When he turned his head quickly his hair seemed to shake out light, and some persons thought they saw decided genius in this coruscation. Mr. Casaubon, on the contrary, stood rayless.

Written By George Eliot

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