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The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history. Options
Daemon
Posted: Tuesday, January 3, 2017 12:00:00 AM
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The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.

George Eliot (1819-1880)
KSPavan
Posted: Tuesday, January 3, 2017 3:35:37 AM

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Joined: 1/28/2015
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Location: Kolkata, Bengal, India
Quotation of the Day

The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.

George Eliot (1819-1880)
srilalitha p
Posted: Tuesday, January 3, 2017 9:38:27 AM

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Holds true even for twenty first century too !
Henry Tobias
Posted: Tuesday, January 3, 2017 11:20:15 AM

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What does that mean? She's had no sexual experience?
Leils
Posted: Tuesday, January 3, 2017 11:33:24 AM

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Location: Los Angeles, California, United States
yes can someone please explain what this means - thank you :)
Mehrdad77
Posted: Tuesday, January 3, 2017 1:37:30 PM

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I think this can mean they both don't think about their past.
Bully_rus
Posted: Tuesday, January 3, 2017 1:38:23 PM
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Location: Minsk, Minskaya Voblasts', Belarus
Daemon wrote:
The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.

George Eliot (1819-1880)


It sounds like a happy new year's wish list... I like it.
gerry
Posted: Tuesday, January 3, 2017 1:55:28 PM
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Joined: 8/21/2009
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Location: Phoenix, Arizona, United States
And just how does this happen???Shhh d'oh! Liar Not talking
Shortknight
Posted: Tuesday, January 3, 2017 3:36:41 PM
Rank: Newbie

Joined: 7/27/2016
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Mehrdad77 wrote:
I think this can mean they both don't think about their past.


Thats how I view it aswell :D
monamagda
Posted: Tuesday, January 3, 2017 6:32:35 PM

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Joined: 2/4/2014
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Location: Bogotá, Bogota D.C., Colombia
This quotation is from THE MILL ON THE FLOSS, by George Eliot (1860)

BOOK VI - CHAPTER III

Confidential Moments

When Maggie went up to her bedroom that night, it appeared that she was not at all inclined to undress. She set down her candle on the first table that presented itself, and began to walk up and down her room, which was a large one, with a firm, regular, and rather rapid step, which showed that the exercise was the instinctive vent of strong excitement. Her eyes and cheeks had an almost feverish brilliancy; her head was thrown backward, and her hands were clasped with the palms outward, and with that tension of the arms which is apt to accompany mental absorption.
Had anything remarkable happened?
Nothing that you are not likely to consider in the highest degree unimportant. She had been hearing some fine music sung by a fine bass voice, — but then it was sung in a provincial, amateur fashion, such as would have left a critical ear much to desire. And she was conscious of having been looked at a great deal, in rather a furtive manner, from beneath a pair of well-marked horizontal eyebrows, with a glance that seemed somehow to have caught the vibratory influence of the voice. Such things could have had no perceptible effect on a thoroughly well-educated young lady, with a perfectly balanced mind, who had had all the advantages of fortune, training, and refined society. But if Maggie had been that young lady, you would probably have known nothing about her: her life would have had so few vicissitudes that it could hardly have been written; for the happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.
In poor Maggie's highly-strung, hungry nature, — just come away from a third-rate schoolroom, with all its jarring sounds and petty round of tasks, — these apparently trivial causes had the effect of rousing and exalting her imagination in a way that was mysterious to herself. It was not that she thought distinctly of Mr. Stephen Guest, or dwelt on the indications that he looked at her with admiration; it was rather that she felt the half-remote presence of a world of love and beauty and delight, made up of vague, mingled images from all the poetry and romance she had ever read, or had ever woven in her dreamy reveries. Her mind glanced back once or twice to the time when she had courted privation, when she had thought all longing, all impatience was subdued; but that condition seemed irrecoverably gone, and she recoiled from the remembrance of it. No prayer, no striving now, would bring back that negative peace; the battle of her life, it seemed, was not to be decided in that short and easy way, — by perfect renunciation at the very threshold of her youth.

http://www.victorianlondon.org/etexts/eliot/mill-0042.shtml
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