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“Mrs. Tulliver, desiring her daughter to have a curled crop, "like other folks's children," had had it cut too short in front to be pushed behind the ears; and as it was usually straight an hour after it had been taken out of paper, Maggie was incessantly tossing her head to keep the dark, heavy locks out of her gleaming black eyes,–an action which gave her very much the air of a small Shetland pony.”

“I want Tom to be such a sort o' man as Riley, you know,–as can talk pretty nigh as well as if it was all wrote out for him, and knows a good lot o' words as don't mean much, so as you can't lay hold of 'em i' law; and a good solid knowledge o' business too.”

“But I should like Tom to be a bit of a scholard, so as he might be up to the tricks o' these fellows as talk fine and write with a flourish. It 'ud be a help to me wi' these lawsuits, and arbitrations, and things. I wouldn't make a downright lawyer o' the lad,–I should be sorry for him to be a raskill,–but a sort o' engineer, or a surveyor, or an auctioneer and vallyer, like Riley,

“The rush of the water and the booming of the mill bring a dreamy deafness, which seems to heighten the peacefulness of the scene. They are like a great curtain of sound, shutting one out from the world beyond. And now there is the thunder of the huge covered wagon coming home with sacks of grain.
That honest wagoner is thinking of his dinner, getting sadly dry in the oven at this late hour;

“As I look at the full stream, the vivid grass, the delicate bright-green powder softening the outline of the great trunks and branches that gleam from under the bare purple boughs, I am in love with moistness, and envy the white ducks that are dipping their heads far into the water here among the withes, unmindful of the awkward appearance they make in the drier world above.”

“Just by the red-roofed town the tributary Ripple flows with a lively current into the Floss. How lovely the little river is, with its dark changing wavelets! It seems to me like a living companion while I wander along the bank, and listen to its low, placid voice, as to the voice of one who is deaf and loving. I remember those large dipping willows. I remember the stone bridge.”

Ay, ay; you want to coax me into thinking him a fine match."

"No, indeed, father. I don't love him because he is a fine match."

"What for, then?"

"Oh, dear, because I have always loved him. I should never like scolding any one else so well; and that is a point to be thought of in a husband.

Dorothea smiled, and Celia looked rather meditative. Presently she said,”I cannot think how it all came about."Celia thought it would be pleasant to hear the story.

I dare say not," said-Dorothea,pinching her sister's chin.If you knew how it came about, it would not seem wonderful to you.

Can't you tell me?said Celia,settling her arms cozily.

No, dear, you would have to feel with me, else you would never know.

It must be admitted that his blood is a frightful mixture!said Mrs. Cadwallader.The Casaubon cuttle-fish fluid to begin with,& then a rebellious Polish fiddler or dancing-master, was it?—& then an old clo—"

Nonsense, Elinor,said the Rector, rising.It is time for us to go.

After all, he is a pretty sprig," said Mrs. Cadwallader.He is like the fine old Crichley portraits before the idiots came in.

“—I—should not make any fuss about it. If she likes to be poor, that is her affair. Nobody would have said anything if she had married the young fellow because he was rich. Plenty of beneficed clergy are poorer than they will be. Here is Elinor," continued the provoking husband;

“Her lips trembled, and so did his. It was never known which lips were the first to move towards the other lips; but they kissed tremblingly, and then they moved apart.

The rain was dashing against the window-panes as if an angry spirit were within it, and behind it was the great swoop of the wind; it was one of those moments in which both the busy and the idle pause with a certain awe.”

“her vagrant mind must be reduced to order: there was an art in self-discipline; and she walked round and round the brown library considering by what sort of manoeuvre she could arrest her wandering thoughts. Perhaps a mere task was the best means—something to which she must go doggedly.”

“To-day was to be spent quite differently. What was there to be done in the village? Oh dear! nothing. Everybody was well and had flannel; nobody's pig had died; and it was Saturday morning, when there was a general scrubbing of doors and door-stones, and when it was useless to go into the school. But there were various subjects that Dorothea was trying to get clear upon,

“As Lydgate rode away, he thought, "This young creature has a heart large enough for the Virgin Mary. She evidently thinks nothing of her own future, and would pledge away half her income at once, as if she wanted nothing for herself but a chair to sit in from which she can look down with those clear eyes at the poor mortals who pray to her.

“I must do as other men do, and think what will please the world and bring in money; look for a little opening in the London crowd, and push myself; set up in a watering-place, or go to some southern town where there are plenty of idle English, and get myself puffed,—that is the sort of shell I must creep into and try to keep my soul alive in.”

“Dorothea's voice...might have been almost taken as a proof that she could do it effectively. The searching tenderness of her woman's tones seemed made for a defence against ready accusers. Lydgate did not stay to think that she was Quixotic: he gave himself up, for the first time in his life, to the exquisite sense of leaning entirely on a generous sympathy, without any check of proud reserve.

“To mercy, pity, peace, and love
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight,
Return their thankfulness.
. . . . . .
For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity a human face;
And Love, the human form divine;
And Peace, the human dress.

—WILLIAM BLAKE: Songs of Innocence.”

“It was eight o'clock in the evening before the door opened & his wife entered.He dared not look up at her.He sat with his eyes bent down,& as she went towards him she thought he looked smaller—he seemed so withered and shrunken.A movement of new compassion & old tenderness went through her like a great wave,& putting one hand on his which rested on the arm of the chair,

“Of course I submitted to him, because it was my duty; it was my feeling for him," said Dorothea, looking through the prism of her tears.

"Then why can't you think it your duty to submit a little to what James wishes?" said Celia, with a sense of stringency in her argument. "Because he only wishes what is for your own good. And, of course, men know best about everything, except what women know better.

“Now,Dodo,do listen to what James says,said Celia, "else you will be getting into a scrape.You always did,& you always will,when you set about doing as you please.& I think it is a mercy now after all that you have got James to think for you.He lets you have your plans,only he hinders you from being taken in.& that is the good of having a brother instead of a husband.A husband would not let you have your plans.

“It is true that a woman may venture on some efforts of sympathy which would hardly succeed if we men undertook them," said Mr. Farebrother, almost converted by Dorothea's ardor.

"Surely, a woman is bound to be cautious and listen to those who know the world better than she does." said Sir James, with his little frown.”

Oh,how cruel! said Dorothea.Would you not like to be the one person who believed in that man's innocence,if the rest of the world belied him.Besides,there is a man's character beforehand to speak for him.
But,my dear Mrs. Casaubon,"said Mr. Farebrother, smiling gently,’character is not cut in marble—it is not something solid & unalterable.It is something living & changing,& may become diseased as our bodies do.

“I feel convinced that his conduct has not been guilty: I believe that people are almost always better than their neighbors think they are," said Dorothea. Some of her intensest experience in the last two years had set her mind strongly in opposition to any unfavorable construction of others; and for the first time she felt rather discontented with Mr. Farebrother.

“Clown. . . . 'Twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, you have a delight to sit, have you not?

Froth. I have so: because it is an open room, and good for winter.

Clown. Why, very well then: I hope here be truths.

—Measure for Measure.”

Much of Fred's rumination might be summed up:’It certainly would have been a fine thing for her to marry Farebrother—but if she loves me best & I am a good husband?
Mr. Farebrother's might be concentrated into a single shrug & one little speech:’To think of the part one little woman can play in the life of a man, so that to renounce her may be a very good imitation of heroism,& to win her may be a discipline!

“But the real wife had not only her claims, she had still a hold on his heart, and it was his intense desire that the hold should remain strong. In marriage, the certainty, "She will never love me much," is easier to bear than the fear, "I shall love her no more.”

“He was really in chill gloom about her at that moment, but he dreaded a future without affection, and was determined to resist the oncoming of division between them. Rosamond obeyed him, and he took her on his knee, but in her secret soul she was utterly aloof from him. The poor thing saw only that the world was not ordered to her liking, and Lydgate was part of that world.

“People make much more of their difficulties than they need to do.”

“If a man goes a little too far along a new road, it is usually himself that he harms more than any one else.”

“He had really a movement of anger against her at that moment, and it impelled him to go away without pause. It was all one flash to Dorothea—his last words—his distant bow to her as he reached the door—the sense that he was no longer there. She sank into the chair, and for a few moments sat like a statue, while images and emotions were hurrying upon her.