Quotes by George Meredith - Page 2 | QuoteForever

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Prepare, You lovers, to know Love a thing of moods: Not like hard life, of laws.
George Meredith / Novelist
Love
Hard Life
Law
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Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars.
George Meredith / Novelist
Night
Stars
Sunset
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See ye not, Courtesy is the true Alchemy, turning to gold all it touches and tries?
George Meredith / Novelist
Curiosity
Gold
Trying
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How many a thing which we cast to the ground, When others pick it up, becomes a gem!
George Meredith / Novelist
Casts
Gems
Picks
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But O the truth, the truth. The many eyes That look on it The diverse things they see.
George Meredith / Novelist
Diverse
Eye
Looks
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The season of love is the carnival of egoism and it brings a touchstone to our natures.
George Meredith / Novelist
Love
Carnivals
Egoism
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Published memoirs indicate the end of a man's activity, and that he acknowledges the end.
George Meredith / Novelist
Men
Ends
Literature
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The sun is coming down to earth, and the fields and the waters shout to him golden shouts.
George Meredith / Novelist
Fields
Golden
Water
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Could I find a place to be alone with heaven, I would speak my heart out heaven is my need.
George Meredith / Novelist
Heart
Heaven
Prayer
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A woman who is not quite a fool will forgive your being but a man, if you are surely that. . .
George Meredith / Novelist
Men
Fool
Forgiving
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She whom I love is hard to catch and conquer, Hard, but O the glory of the winning were she won!
George Meredith / Novelist
Love
Conquer
Winning
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We know the degree of refinement in people by the matter they laugh at and the ring of the laugh.
George Meredith / Novelist
Laughing
Laughter
People
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Much benevolence of the passive order may be traced to a disinclination to inflict pain upon oneself.
George Meredith / Novelist
May
Order
Pain
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Sentimentalists are they who seek to enjoy without incurring the Immense Debtorship for a thing done.
George Meredith / Novelist
Done
Enjoy
Immense
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In tragic life, God wot, No villain need be! Passions spin the plot: We are betrayed by what is false within.
George Meredith / Novelist
Needs
Passion
Plot
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The stench of the trail of Ego in our History. It is ego - ego, the fountain cry, origin, sole source of war.
George Meredith / Novelist
Patriotism
War
Ego
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A house with a great wine stored below lives in our imagination as a joyful house, fast and splendidly rooted in the soil.
George Meredith / Novelist
Imagination
House
Wine
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The man or country that fights priestcraft and priests is to my mind striking deeper for freedom than can be struck anywhere.
George Meredith / Novelist
Men
Country
Deeper
Fighting
Priests
Anywhere
Fights
Striking
Struck
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A human act once set in motion flows on forever to the great account. Our deathlessness is in what we do, not in what we are.
George Meredith / Novelist
Death
Forever
Memorial
Prayer
Account
Act
Set
Human
Flows
Motion
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When I was quite a boy I had a spasm of religion which lasted six weeks... But I never since have swallowed the Christian fable.
George Meredith / Novelist
Atheism
Boys
Christian
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I know him, February's thrush, And loud at eve he valentines On sprays that paw the naked bush Where soon will sprout the thorns and bines.
George Meredith / Novelist
Valentine
Naked
Paws
Thorns
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Prayer for worldly goods is worse than fruitless, but prayer for strength of soul is that passion of the soul which catches the gift it seeks.
George Meredith / Novelist
Passion
Prayer
Soul
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Earth, the mother of all, Moves on her stedfast way, Gathering, flinging, sowing. Mortals, we live in her day, She in her children is growing.
George Meredith / Novelist
Children
Mother
Moving
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I've studied men from my topsy-turvy Close, and I reckon, rather true. Some are fine fellows: some, right scurvy; Most, a dash between the two.
George Meredith / Novelist
Men
Topsy Turvy
Two
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George Eliot has the heart of Sappho; but the face, with the long proboscis, the protruding teeth of the Apocalyptic horse, betrayed animality.
George Meredith / Novelist
Heart
Horse
Long
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Cultivated men and women who do not skim the cream of life, and are attached to the duties, yet escape the harsher blows, make acute and balanced observers.
George Meredith / Novelist
Knowledge
Men
Blow
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A kiss is but a kiss now! and no wave of a great flood that whirls me to the sea. But, as you will! we'll sit contentedly, and eat our pot of honey on the grave.
George Meredith / Novelist
Honey
Kissing
Sea
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The song seraphically free Of taint of personality, So pure that it salutes the suns The voice of one for millions, In whom the millions rejoice For giving their one spirit voice.
George Meredith / Novelist
Giving
Song
Voice
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Lovely are the curves of the white owl sweeping Wavy in the dusk lit by one large star. Lone on the fir-branch, his rattle-note unvaried, Brooding o'er the gloom, spins the brown eve-jar.
George Meredith / Novelist
Night
Stars
Sunset
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For singing till his heaven fills, 'Tis love of earth that he instills, And ever winging up and up, Our valley is his golden cup, And he the wine which over flows To lift us with him as he goes.
George Meredith / Novelist
Heaven
Singing
Wine
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Darker grows the valley, more and more forgetting: So were it with me if forgetting could be willed. Tell the grassy hollow that holds the bubbling well-spring, Tell it to forget the source that keeps it filled.
George Meredith / Novelist
Forget
Spring
Valleys
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She [Comedy] it is who proposes the correcting of pretentiousness, of inflation, of dulness, and of the vestiges of rawness and grossness to be found among us. She is the ultimate civilizer, the polisher, a sweet cook.
George Meredith / Novelist
Comedy
Rawness
Sweet
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Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars. Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold, And the great price we paid for it full worth: We have it only when we are half earth. Little avails that coinage to the old!
George Meredith / Novelist
Dying
Fire
Stars
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Ah, what a dusty answer gets the soul When hot for certainties in this our life! - In tragic hints here see what evermore Moves dark as yonder midnight ocean's force, Thundering like ramping hosts of warrior horse, To throw that faint thin fine upon the shore!
George Meredith / Novelist
Ocean
Dark
Horse
Moving
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On a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose, Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiend . . . He reached a middle height, and at the stars, Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank. Around the ancient track marched, rank on rank, The army of unalterable law.
George Meredith / Novelist
Dark
Stars
Tired
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Comedy is a game played to throw reflections upon social life, and it deals with human nature in the drawing-room of civilized men and women, where we have no dust of the struggling outer world, no mire, no violent crashes, to make the correctness of the representation convincing.
George Meredith / Novelist
Men
Reflection
Struggle
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It's past parsons to console us: No, nor no doctor fetch for me: I can die without my bolus; Two of a trade, lass, never agree! Parson and Doctor!--don't they love rarely Fighting the devil in other men's fields! Stand up yourself and match him fairly: Then see how the rascal yields!
George Meredith / Novelist
Men
Fighting
Past
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Among the Diaries beginning with the second quarter of our century, there is frequent mention of a lady then becoming famous for her beauty and her wit: "an unusual combination," in the deliberate syllables of one of the writers, who is, however, not disposed to personal irony when speaking of her.
George Meredith / Novelist
Becoming
Book
Diaries
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Days, when the ball of our vision Had eagles that flew unabashed to sun; When the graps on the bow was decision, And arrow and hand and eye were one; When the Pleasures, like waves to a swimmer, Came heaving for rapture ahead! - Invoke them, they dwindle, they glimmer As lights over mounds of the dead.
George Meredith / Novelist
Eagles
Eye
Light
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Sunrays, leaning on our southern hills and lighting Wild cloud-mountains that drag the hills along, Oft ends the day of your shifting brilliant laughter Chill as a dull face frowning on a song. Ay, but shows the South-west a ripple-feathered bosom Blown to silver while the clouds are shaken and ascend Scaling the mid-heavens as they stream, there comes a sunset Rich, deep like love in beauty without end.
George Meredith / Novelist
Laughter
Song
Sunset
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