Middlemarch

by George Eliot

Notions and scruples were like spilt needles, making one afraid of treading, or sitting down, or even eating.

We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little pale about the lips, and in answer to inquiries say, "Oh, nothing!" Pride helps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our own hurts—not to hurt others.