George Eliot, The Mill on the Floss

Saturday, 16 Apr 2022

Quote 1:

Mr Tulliver did not willingly write a letter, and found the relation between spoken and written language, briefly known as spelling, one of the most puzzling things in this puzzling world. Nevertheless, like all fervid writing, the task was done in less time than usual, and if the spelling differed from Mrs Glegg’s – why, she belonged, like himself, to a generation with whom spelling was a matter of private judgment.

Quote 2:

Maggie… was a creature full of eager, passionate longings for all that was beautiful and glad: thirsty for all knowledge: with an ear straining after dreamy music that died away and would not come near to her: with a blind, unconscious yearning for something that would link together the wonderful impressions of this mysterious life and give her soul a sense of home in it.

Quote 3:

We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it, – if it were not the earth where the same flowers come up again every spring that we used to gather with our tiny fingers as we sat lisping to ourselves on the grass… The wood I walk in on this mild May day, with the young yellow-brown foliage of the oaks between me and the blue sky, the white star-flowers and the blue-eyed speedwell and the ground ivy at my feet – what grove of tropic palms, what strange ferns or splendid broad-petalled blossoms, could ever thrill such deep and delicate fibres within me as this home-scene? These familiar flowers, these well remembered bird-notes, this sky with its fitful brightness, these furrowed and grassy fields, each with a sort of personality given to it by the capricious hedgerows – such things as these are the mother tongue of our imagination, the language that is laden with all the subtle inextricable associations of the fleeting hours of our childhood left behind them. Our delight in the sunshine on the deep bladed grass today, might be no more than the faint perception of wearied souls, if it were not for the sunshine and the grass in the far-off years, which still live in us and transform our perception into love.

MORE COLLECTED QUOTES

Pip Williams, The Bookbinder of Jericho

Jane Eyre. It was an Oxford World's Classics edition. Similar to the one we owned and similarly worn from constant handling. There was a difference between a book that was regularly opened and a book that was not. The smell, the resistance of the spine, the ease with...

Anna Funder, All That I Am

Quote 1: "The beauty of this city is too elemental, too fecund and raw, to be tamed by mere money. Though the financiers and bankers and dot.com millionaires hug the shoreline, their topiary palaces and towered developments will never conquer this landscape....

Elizabeth Strout, Lucy by the Sea

Quote 1: The weather stayed awful almost all of the time. Cold and brown and windy. But one day in the middle of April the sun came out and William and I walked out on the rocks–it was low tide–and then we walked to a closed store that was the only other building out...

Tim Winton, Cloudstreet

"Will you look at us by the river! The whole restless mob of us on spread blankets in the dreamy briny sunshine skylarking and chiacking about for one day, one clear clean, sweet day in a good world in the midst of our living. Yachts run before an unfelt gust with...

Thomas Hardy, Far from the Madding Crowd

The sky was clear – remarkably clear – and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed as a common pulse…To persons standing alone on a hill during a clear midnight such as this, the roll of the world eastward is almost a palpable movement. The sensation may be caused by the panoramic glide of the stars past earthly objects, which is perceptible in a few minutes of stillness, or by the better outlook upon space that a hill affords, or by the wind, or by the solitude; but whatever be its origin the impression of riding along is vivid and abiding…

Delia Owens, Where the Crawdads Sing

Quote 1:
Months passed, winter easing gently into place, as southern winters do. The sun, warm as a blanket, wrapped Kya’s shoulders, coaxing her deeper into the marsh…

Jaclyn Moriarty, gravity is the thing

Quote 1:  ‘Kierkegaard thinks that music begins where language ends,’ Finnegan said. ‘Beyond language—or when language reaches its peak—you get music.’  I considered that. ‘I can’t believe we’re talking about Kierkegaard,’ I said. ‘You’re not. I am. And the...

Alexander McCall Smith, The Joy and Light Bus Company

Mma Potokwani was watching her friend… ‘Dear friend,’ she said, ‘of course I shall help you. Of course, I shall. And we shall start tomorrow, first thing. After breakfast, that is.’ ‘I would never do anything before breakfast,’ said Mma Ramotswe. And they both...

Janet Skeslian Charles, The Paris Library

Grief is a sea made of your own tears. Salty swells cover the dark depths you must swim at your own pace. It takes time to build stamina. Some days, my arms sliced through the water, and I felt things would be okay, the shore wasn’t so far off. Then one memory, one...

Sue Monk Kidd, The Secret Life of Bees

Quote 1: When I looked up through the web of trees, the night fell over me, and for a moment I lost my boundaries, feeling like the sky was my own skin and the moon was my heart beating up there in the dark. Quote 2: … what I felt was magnetic and so big it ached like...