Top 90 Quotes & Sayings by George Meredith

Explore popular quotes and sayings by an English novelist George Meredith.
Last updated on December 21, 2024.
George Meredith

George Meredith was an English novelist and poet of the Victorian era. At first his focus was poetry, influenced by John Keats among others, but he gradually established a reputation as a novelist. The Ordeal of Richard Feverel (1859) briefly scandalized Victorian literary circles. Of his later novels, the most enduring is The Egoist (1879), though in his lifetime his greatest success was Diana of the Crossways (1885). His novels were innovative in their attention to characters' psychology, and also took a close interest in social change. His style, in both poetry and prose, was noted for its syntactic complexity; Oscar Wilde likened it to "chaos illumined by brilliant flashes of lightning". He was an encourager of other novelists, as well as an influence on them; among those to benefit were Robert Louis Stevenson and George Gissing. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature seven times.

Bring the army of the faithful through.
Memoirs are the backstairs of history.
Possession without obligation to the object possessed approaches felicity. — © George Meredith
Possession without obligation to the object possessed approaches felicity.
Cynicism is intellectual dandyism.
Speech is the small change of silence.
Caricature is rough truth.
I expect that Woman will be the last thing civilized by Man.
A human act once set in motion flows on forever to the great account. Our deathlessness is in what we do, not in what we are.
I expect Woman will be the last thing civilized by Man.
She poured a little social sewage into his ears.
A witty woman is a treasure; a witty beauty is a power.
The well of true wit is truth itself.
Who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered. — © George Meredith
Who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered.
Kissing don't last: cookery do!
Always imitate the behavior of the winners when you lose.
Don't just count your years, make your years count.
Ah, what a dusty answer gets the soul when hot for certainties in this our life!
There is nothing the body suffers the soul may not profit by.
Jealousy is love bed of burning snarl.
The man or country that fights priestcraft and priests is to my mind striking deeper for freedom than can be struck anywhere.
The man of science is nothing if not a poet gone wrong.
The most dire disaster in love is the death of imagination.
Could I find a place to be alone with heaven, I would speak my heart out heaven is my need.
Ah, what a dusty answer gets the soul When hot for certainties in this our life! - In tragic hints here see what evermore Moves dark as yonder midnight ocean's force, Thundering like ramping hosts of warrior horse, To throw that faint thin fine upon the shore!
Full lasting is the song, though he, / The singer, passes.
Heiresses are never jilted.
The sun is coming down to earth, and the fields and the waters shout to him golden shouts.
The debts we owe ourselves are the hardest to pay.
Among the Diaries beginning with the second quarter of our century, there is frequent mention of a lady then becoming famous for her beauty and her wit: "an unusual combination," in the deliberate syllables of one of the writers, who is, however, not disposed to personal irony when speaking of her.
Perfect simplicity is unconsciously audacious.
Days, when the ball of our vision Had eagles that flew unabashed to sun; When the graps on the bow was decision, And arrow and hand and eye were one; When the Pleasures, like waves to a swimmer, Came heaving for rapture ahead! - Invoke them, they dwindle, they glimmer As lights over mounds of the dead.
Published memoirs indicate the end of a man's activity, and that he acknowledges the end.
Sunrays, leaning on our southern hills and lighting Wild cloud-mountains that drag the hills along, Oft ends the day of your shifting brilliant laughter Chill as a dull face frowning on a song. Ay, but shows the South-west a ripple-feathered bosom Blown to silver while the clouds are shaken and ascend Scaling the mid-heavens as they stream, there comes a sunset Rich, deep like love in beauty without end.
Cultivated men and women who do not skim the cream of life, and are attached to the duties, yet escape the harsher blows, make acute and balanced observers.
She whom I love is hard to catch and conquer, Hard, but O the glory of the winning were she won!
Always imitate the behaviour of the winners when you lose.
Darker grows the valley, more and more forgetting: So were it with me if forgetting could be willed. Tell the grassy hollow that holds the bubbling well-spring, Tell it to forget the source that keeps it filled.
Observation is the most enduring of the pleasures of life. — © George Meredith
Observation is the most enduring of the pleasures of life.
There is nothing the body suffers which the soul may not profit by.
Prayer for worldly goods is worse than fruitless, but prayer for strength of soul is that passion of the soul which catches the gift it seeks.
Chance works for us when we are good captains.
My religion of life is always to be cheerful.
It is the devil's masterstroke to get us to accuse him
Poetry is talking on tiptoe.
In tragic life, God wot, No villain need be! Passions spin the plot: We are betrayed by what is false within.
When I was quite a boy I had a spasm of religion which lasted six weeks... But I never since have swallowed the Christian fable.
What a woman thinks of women is the test of her nature.
Earth, the mother of all, Moves on her stedfast way, Gathering, flinging, sowing. Mortals, we live in her day, She in her children is growing. — © George Meredith
Earth, the mother of all, Moves on her stedfast way, Gathering, flinging, sowing. Mortals, we live in her day, She in her children is growing.
Behold the life at ease; it drifts, The sharpened life commands its course.
We are betrayed by what is false within
We never know what's in us till we stand by ourselves.
God's rarest blessing is, after all, a good woman!
We know the degree of refinement in people by the matter they laugh at and the ring of the laugh.
The man who has no mind of his own lends it to the priests.
The future not being born, my friend, we will abstain from baptizing it.
The stench of the trail of Ego in our History. It is ego - ego, the fountain cry, origin, sole source of war.
As we to the brutes, poets are to us.
Earth knows no desolation. She smells regeneration in the moist breath of decay.
Swift doth young Love flee, And we stand wakened, shivering from our dream.
A house with a great wine stored below lives in our imagination as a joyful house, fast and splendidly rooted in the soil.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!