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Truth is the precious harvest of the earth.
But once, when harvest waved upon a land,
The noisome cankerworm and caterpillar,
Locusts, and all the swarming foul-born broods,
Fastened upon it with swift, greedy jaws,
And turned the harvest into pestilence,
Until men said, What profits it to sow?

— George Eliot Felix Holt, the Radical (1866)

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More quotes by George Eliot

The blessed work of helping the world forward, happily does not wait to be done by perfect men.

Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us wordy evidence of the fact.

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

The Mill on the Floss (1860)

Every man who is not a monster, a mathematician, or a mad philosopher, is the slave of some woman or other.

Howiver, I'm not denyin' the women are foolish: God Almighty made 'em to match the men.

Adam Bede (1859)

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Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: George Eliot (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.