captivating quotations from movies, television, literature and people - curated by actual geeks.
Perhaps the wind
Wails so in winter for the summers dead,
And all sad sounds are nature’s funeral cries
For what has been and is not.
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More from George Eliot
Sad as a wasted passion.
Knightly love is blent with reverence
As heavenly air is blent with heavenly blue.
A difference of tastes in jokes is a great strain on the affections.
I think my life began with waking up and loving my mother’s face: it was so near to me, and her arms were round me, and she sang to me.
Men’s men: gentle or simple, they’re much of a muchness.