ABR

Daniel Deronda Quotes

In 1876, Mary Ann Evans published her final novel Daniel Deronda, under her more familiar pen name George Eliot. Almost 140 years later, this 23 year old Floridian picked up the Victorian novel upon recommendation. Having recently discovered a love for psychological realism in literature, I was eager to embark on the adventure of reading this great work. The plot is multifaceted and can be difficult to follow so I decided against writing any substantial analysis and chose to simply learn from Eliot. The experience was well worth the time I dedicated to the task. Hopefully, I will keep as much of Eliot’s wisdom as possible. It was difficult to go more than a few pages without coming across some sort of enlightening thought. While reading, I saved many of the novel’s best lines and decided to share them with anyone interested in reading the words of this remarkable woman.

To fully appreciate these quotes you will probably have to read them slowly or more than once. Typically, when I came across lines like these, I would read over them multiple times in order to better understand them. I do believe most, if not all, of these quotes can be consumed and appreciated without plot context. If a character’s name is mentioned, their relevance to the story will not contribute to the essence of the quote as a whole.

I hope when you’re reading Eliot’s words, you allow them to wash over you as a first time reader rather than looking to mine for explanation. Surely, I could never provide a sufficient exposition to thoughts of genius. For the most part, I will be noting the quote’s impact on me as a reader. The quotes that have emboldened page numbers are the best of the best, my favorites from the ones I included here. So, if you’re not up for reading the whole post, make sure you check those out.

P. 93, “for vanity is as ill at ease under indifference as tenderness is under a love which it cannot return.”

Here, Eliot exposes the façade of vanity and that love must be a two-way street. This is what I love about her writing. Someone could express those ideas to me and I would agree with them, but could anyone find a finer way of communicating that thought? I don’t believe so.

p. 95, “The beginning of an acquaintance whether persons or things is to get a definite outline for our ignorance.”

This is a quote that I am trying to embrace as I continue to grow up and mature. Ignorance is a sickening feeling that we are never aware of, but when we shed those layers how sweet a relief it is! When you meet someone or are introduced to something you’ve previously experienced no history, it is the start of an ever so subtle growth. That growth may not be glamorous or obvious, but over time will show its worth.

P. 117-8, “‘I don’t know. We women can’t go in search of adventures—to find out the North- West Passage or the source of the Nile, or to hunt tigers in the East. We must stay where we grow, or where the gardeners like to transplant us. We are brought up like the flowers, to look as pretty as we can, and be dull without complaining. That is my notion about the plants: they are often bored, and that is the reason why some of them have got poisonous.’” (Gwendolen)

When I read this I have a dozen unsettled thoughts, none of them grounded enough to bring me real conviction. The finest aspect of this quote, to me, is the metaphor and figurative language. None of my analogies ever resemble anything like this. Certainly, Eliot and her protagonist (Gwendolen) would be astonished and pleased to see the social progress that has taken place across the world since these words were penned. These are the kinds of passages that provide such critical insight into a historical time period that textbook records can’t possibly capture.

P. 125, “But the Rector was a little startled by so bare a version of his own meaning from those young lips. He wished that in her mind his advice should be taken in an infusion of sentiments proper to a girl…”

This quote isn’t anything outstanding, but I thought it perfectly described some the mental and emotional gaps that exist in human communication. Here, a pastor is trying to give advice to his niece. While he says exactly what he wants to say, her failure to understand them opens his eyes to the difficult task of overcoming the myriad differences that exist between them.

P. 143 “A difference of taste in jokes is a great strain on the affections.”

Amen to that. I just had to include this quote because I felt a connection between Eliot and myself. It also made me feel validated because I would’ve said a less eloquent version of this before I ever picked up the book.

P. 143, “‘The best horse will win in spite of pedigree, my boy. You remember Napoleon’s mot—Je suis un ancétre*,’ said Sir Hugo, who habitually undervalued birth, as men after dining well often agree that the good of life is distributed with wonderful equality.”
*I’m an ancestor (French); that is, I’m my own genealogy.

Admittedly, this is a quote that context would enhance. Regardless, it shows how the privileged often dismiss, or are blind to, advantages and other contributing factors to their success in life. The nature vs. nurture argument will never be fully solved, and the complexity of it should be a reminder that one can’t possibly know what would’ve transpired in their life should certain things have happened differently. I personally believe that should result in appreciation for where one’s life currently stands and a hesitancy to make assumptions about other lives. Reading this quote stung my pride because I have experience the exact feeling Eliot attributes to Sir Hugo. My stomach being contented puts my mind at ease about those who lack similar satisfaction.

P. 209, “For in general mortals have a great power of being astonished at the presence of an effect towards which they have done everything, and at the absence of an effect towards which they have done nothing but desire it. Parents are astonished at the ignorance of their sons, though they have used the most time-honoured and expensive means of securing it; husbands and wives are mutually astonished at the loss of affection which they have taken no pains to keep; and all of us in our turn are apt to be astonished that our neighbours do not admire us. In this way it happens that the truth seems highly improbable. The truth is something different from the habitual lazy combinations begotten by our wishes.”

I suppose I can say that this quote was encouraging. At first I felt sick because I am grossly guilty of doing this, but it made realize I’m not the only one guilty. I also would’ve labeled it a distinctly American trait, but Eliot attributes it to “mortals.” My reason for positing that is because our culture is force-fed this rhetoric of “dream big” and “chase your dreams,” which is fine, but not when the blueprint of achieving dreams remains veiled and unspoken. Eliot hits the nail on the head. We reap what we sow, there’s no way of getting around it. Here, she talks about how this exists in relationships, but the principle can be applied in a number of other ways.

P. 210, “…the most powerful of all beauty is that which reveals itself after sympathy and not before it. There is a charm of eye and lip which comes with every little phrase that certifies delicate perception or fine judgment, with every unostentatious word or smile that shows a heart awake to others; and no sweep of garment or turn of figure is more satisfying than that which enters as a restoration of confidence that one person is present on whom no intention will be lost. What dignity of meaning goes on gathering in frowns and laughs which are never observed in the wrong place; what suffused adorableness in a human frame where there is a mind that can flash out comprehension and hands that can execute finely! The more obvious beauty, also adorable sometimes—one may say it without blasphemy—begins by being an apology for folly, and ends like other apologies in becoming tiresome by iteration; and that Klesmer, though very susceptible to it, should have a passionate attachment to Miss Arrowpoint, was no more a paradox than any other triumph of a manifold sympathy over a monotonous attraction. We object less to be taxed with the enslaving excess of our passions than with our deficiency in wider passion; but if the truth were known, our reputed intensity is often the dullness of not knowing what else to do with ourselves.” (Underline added)

The underlined first sentence hit me like a ton of bricks. As a guy, I am often far too concerned with the outward appearance of a person. It can be difficult to take the blinders off, but when I do, there’s no doubting this truth. The final two lines speak to the benefit of expanding our mind and hearts to “wider passion.” I don’t want to ever be contented with my way of thinking to the point where I refuse to expand it. There is a reward to stretching your mind to more important things in life that may often seem less important.

P. 227, “‘Genius at first is little more than a great capacity for receiving discipline.’” (Klesmer)

This line comes in the middle of a great scene that would require context for further meaning, but it stands alone quite powerfully. Certainly, genius requires gifting, but not without hard work and criticism. If you want to be great at something you must first accept that you are not currently great at that thing and most likely will not be for a long time.

P. 259, “Desire has trimmed the sails, and Circumstance brings but the breeze to fill them.”

So often people want to suggest fate or “circumstance” as the reason for the way events in their life transpired, but we typically put ourselves in the positions in life that lead to what actually takes place. If you want to be honest and really see why you’re where you are in life, combine this quote with the quote on p. 209 and there will be little doubt as to how things ended up as they did and who is to blame. Certainly, Eliot acknowledges that we can’t control everything and circumstance exists, but it plays less of a role than we often believe.

P. 267, “…finding herself in the woman’s paradise where all her nonsense is adorable.”

I’m not going to pretend to understand women, but in my experience with them I’ve found this to be absolutely true.

P. 316, “Few friendly remarks are more annoying than the information that we are always seeming to do what we never mean to do.”

This is one of those quotes that put words to a feeling I’ve experienced many times, but never understood it enough to express it. Read the quote a few times and you’ll get it.

P. 318, “This wakening of a new interest—this passing from the supposition that we hold the right opinions on a subject we are careless about, to a sudden care for it, and a sense that our opinions were ignorance—is an effectual remedy for ennui, which unhappily cannot be secured on a physician’s prescription.”

Ennui is “a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement.” This is a quote I am finding much more agreeable as I mature. For years I felt like strong opinions and dismissal of things I didn’t care for was a good way to be. I now am beginning to see the immaturity and regrettable consequences of the paradigm. Not long ago I would’ve scoffed at the idea of reading a book like Daniel Deronda. Oh how glad I am to no longer be wallowing in that state, oblivious to my limitations! Now, more aware of them, I try to dismiss nothing of any value or effort that does not corrupt the soul. I feel the joyous effects of this remedy Eliot describes, and I must concur that it would be easier if we could simply receive such changes like we do medication.

P. 368, “‘To delight in doing things because our fathers did them is good if it shuts out nothing better; it enlarges the range of affection—and affection is the broadest basis of good in life.’
            ‘Do you think so?’ said Gwendolen with a little surprise. ‘I should have thought you cared most about ideas, knowledge, wisdom, and all that.’
            ‘But to care about them is a sort of affection,’ said Deronda, smiling at her sudden naïveté. ‘Call it attachment; interest, willing to bear a great deal for the sake of being with them and saving them from injury. Of course, it makes a difference if the objects of interest are human beings; but generally in all deep affections the objects are a mixture—half persons and half ideas—sentiments and affections flow in together.’”

There is always so much packed into Deronda’s dialogue with Gwendolen, so there is rarely just one takeaway in a quote like this. I feel validated for wanting to preserve old thoughts, ways, and manners, but realize I need to check these desires and hopefully avoid “shutting out nothing better.” This rant about affection really speaks for itself. I’ve never considered the linkage between persons and ideas in affection, but when you give it some thought it’s pretty fascinating.

P. 386, “‘For my part,’ said Deronda, ‘people who do anything finely always inspirit me to try. I don't mean that they make me believe I can do it as well. But they make the thing, whatever it may be, seem worthy to be done. I can bear to think my own music not good for much, but the world would be more dismal if I thought music itself not good for much. Excellence encourages one about life generally; it shows the spiritual wealth of the world.”

There is something to be said about being selective on how one spends his time and on what endeavors his efforts are set, but this quotes speaks to the appreciation ordinary people should have for excellence. I love the line, “they make the thing…seem worthy to be done.” If I should take that view towards the people who do things I may at first deem uninteresting, how much more tolerable I would be!

P. 399, “‘You say I am ignorant. But what is the good of trying to know more, unless life were worth more?’

‘This good,’ said Deronda, promptly, with a touch of indignant severity, which he was inclined to encourage as his own safeguard; ‘life would be worth more to you: some real knowledge would give you and interest in the world beyond the small drama of personal desires. It is the curse of your life—forgive me—of so many lives, that all passion is pent in that narrow round, for want of ideas and sympathies to make a larger home for it.’”

I recently expressed to a friend how I wish I could rid myself of all the unimportant things that fill my time on a daily basis. Most of these things are meant to “make a larger home” for my personal desires—I suppose you could make the case that all of them are, but it would be a debate. I want my pursuits and knowledge to exceed self-satisfaction, because I do believe that expansion would bring about a more worthy life.

P. 464, “‘Ye're all agreed that societies change—not always and everywhere—but on the whole and in the long run. Now, with all deference, I would beg t' observe that we have got to examine the nature of changes before we have a warrant to call them progress, which word is supposed to include a bettering, though I apprehend it to be ill-chosen for that purpose, since mere motion onward may carry us to a bog or a precipice. And the questions I would put are three: Is all change in the direction of progress? if not, how shall we discern which change is progress and which not? and thirdly, how far and in what way can we act upon the course of change so as to promote it where it is beneficial, and divert it where it is injurious?’” (Buchan)

I just wish everyone in America could read this quote and ask themselves these questions when they promote change. Change is necessary for progress, but it isn’t necessarily all progress! Yes, we should always be seeking to change ourselves, but not everything should be changed.

P. 474, “There is a sort of human paste that when it comes near the fire of enthusiasm is only baked into harder shape.”

Whether in agreement or disagreement, enthusiasm and strong opinions often lead to unity or further division.

P. 482, “What furniture can give such finish to a room as a tender woman’s face?—and is there any harmony of tints that has such stirrings of delight as the sweet modulations of her voice?”

I think some lines, like these, would’ve been interesting to read before Eliot’s audience knew she was a woman. I must agree with her sentiment here.

P. 483, “They must be rather old and wise persons who are not apt to see their own anxiety or elation about themselves reflected in other minds…”

This is another one of those quotes that I read and realized I have always done this without ever consciously knowing it. I think it probable that most people think less about me than I normally suppose. They’re more likely busy thinking about themselves just as I’m constantly thinking about myself.

P. 493, “‘Other styles of woman I might make myself wicked for, but for Berenice I could make myself—well, pretty good, which is something much more difficult.’” (Hans)

I’ve had many a talk with dozens of my guy friends about the terrible things one of us would do to be with a particular girl. It’s mostly an immature way of admiring their beauty, but it speaks to the shallow nature of the mindset. A man may do bad things that seem extreme, but as Hans notes here, it is a deeper affection to try and change the bad things about yourself for someone you love.

P. 545, “Across these two importunate thoughts, which he resisted as much as one can resist anything in that unstrung condition which belongs to suspense, there came continually an anxiety which he made no effort to banish—dwelling on it rather with a mournfulness, which often seems to us the best atonement we can make to one whose need we have been unable to meet. The anxiety was for Gwendolen. In the wonderful mixtures of our nature there is a feeling distinct from that exclusive passionate love of which some men and women (by no means all) are capable, which yet is not the same with friendship, nor with a merely benevolent regard, whether admiring or compassionate: a man, say—for it is a man who is here concerned—hardly represents to himself this shade of feeling toward a woman more nearly than in words, "I should have loved her, if——": the "if" covering some prior growth in the inclinations, or else some circumstances which have made an inward prohibitory law as a stay against the emotions ready to quiver out of balance.”

I think it’s reasonable to suggest that I could’ve loved or been involved with- even to the point of marriage- several different girls. Many people can say the same thing. There isn’t some mythical spouse floating around in the world waiting for their mate to scoop them up. As relationships develop, compatibility becomes clear.

P. 590, “The beings closest to us, whether in love or hate, are often virtually our interpreters of the world, and some feather-headed gentleman or lady whom in passing we regret to take as legal tender for a human being, may be acting as a melancholy theory of life in the minds of those who live with them—like a piece of yellow and wavy glass that distorts form and makes color an affliction. Their trivial sentences, their petty standards, their low suspicions, their loveless ennui, may be making somebody else's life no better than a promenade through a pantheon of ugly idols.”

I’m not sure we can ever fully understand the extent to which those close to us affect us, because they have impacted even the way we would go about thinking of their influence. They are “our interpreters of the world.” What I love about this quote is the thought that every person you walk by on the street has made a monumental impact on someone’s life.

P. 609, “…he was in one of those moments when the very anguish of passionate pity makes us ready to choose that we will know pleasure no more, and live only for the stricken and afflicted.”

This is how I feel when I see some terrible injustice or tragic circumstance. It leaves me feeling frustratingly unable to help, but Eliot’s description is perfect. In that moment I feel willing to renounce all pleasures for the sake of ending the pitiful sight. Yet, when I awake the next day I have made no sacrifice towards any pleasures.

P. 614, “Deronda’s heart was pierced. He turned his eyes on her poor beseeching face and said, ‘I believe you may become worthier than you have ever yet been—worthy to lead a life that may be a blessing. No evil dooms us hopelessly except the evil we love, and desire to continue in, and make no effort to escape from.’”

This is really close to the Gospel. Eliot seemed to be so close and yet still infinitely distant. This is a great encouragement to her readers, and an absolute truth that should be kept close to the heart.

P. 674, “‘What makes life dreary is the want of motive.’” (Deronda)

Amen.

P. 697, “…Gwendolen, in settling there, maintained a calm beyond her mother's hopes. She was experiencing some of that peaceful melancholy which comes from the renunciation of demands for self, and from taking the ordinary good of existence, and especially kindness, even from a dog, as a gift above expectation. Does one who has been all but lost in a pit of darkness complain of the sweet air and the daylight? There is a way of looking at our life daily as an escape, and taking the quiet return of morn and evening—still more the star-like out-glowing of some pure fellow-feeling, some generous impulse breaking our inward darkness—as a salvation that reconciles us to hardship. Those who have a self-knowledge prompting such self-accusation as Hamlet's, can understand this habitual feeling of rescue.”

Again, Eliot says it all. How much more would we appreciate every good aspect of our lives if we had them taken away from us? We can’t quickly arrive such a state without some tragedy, but perhaps with years of time and work we can get closer.

P. 698, “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.”

P. 107-8, “Could there be a slenderer, more insignificant thread in human history than this consciousness of a girl, busy with her small inferences of the way in which she could make her life pleasant?—in a time, too, when ideas were with fresh vigor making armies of themselves, and the universal kinship was declaring itself fiercely; when women on the other side of the world would not mourn for the husbands and sons who died bravely in a common cause, and men stinted of bread on our side of the world heard of that willing loss and were patient: a time when the soul of man was walking to pulses which had for centuries been beating in him unfelt, until their full sum made a new life of terror or of joy.

What in the midst of that mighty drama are girls and their blind visions? They are the Yea or Nay of that good for which men are enduring and fighting. In these delicate vessels is borne onward through the ages the treasure of human affections.”

Anyone who can come close to explaining this to me, please do so.

Works Cited

Eliot, George. Daniel Deronda. Ed. Earl L. Dachlager. New York: Barnes and Noble, 2005. Print.