For singing till his heaven fills, 'Tis love of earth that he instills, And ever winging up and up, Our valley is his golden cup, And he the wine which over flows To lift us with him as he goes. — George Meredith Copy Share Image
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. — George Meredith Copy Share Image
In tragic life, God wot, No villain need be! Passions spin the plot: We are betrayed by what is false within. — George Meredith Copy Share Image
Possession without obligation to the object possessed approaches felicity. — George Meredith Copy Share Image
Prayer for worldly goods is worse than fruitless, but prayer for strength of soul is that passion of the soul which catches the gift… — George Meredith Copy Share Image
And if I drink oblivion of a day, / So shorten I the stature of my soul. — George Meredith Copy Share Image
It's past parsons to console us: No, nor no doctor fetch for me: I can die without my bolus; Two of a trade, lass,… — George Meredith Copy Share Image
I've studied men from my topsy-turvy Close, and I reckon, rather true. Some are fine fellows: some, right scurvy; Most, a dash between the… — George Meredith Copy Share Image
