Mary Ann Evans was the foremost woman novelist of her time, e.g., "Silas Marner," 1861.
But the mother's yearning, that completest type of the life in another life which is the essence of real human love, feels the presence of the cherished child even in the debased, degraded man.
The sense of an entailed disadvantage -- the deformed foot doubtfully hidden by the shoe, makes a restlessly active spiritual yeast, and easily turns a self-centered, unloving nature into an Ishmaelite.
Sir Joshua would have been glad to take her portrait; and he would have had an easier task than the historian at least in this, that he would not have had to represent the truth of change -- only to give stability to one beautiful moment.
For what is love itself, for the one we love best? An enfolding of immeasurable cares which yet are better than any joys outside our love.
In all private quarrels the duller nature is triumphant by reason of dullness.