"Who longs in solitude to live, Ah! soon his wish will gain: Men hope and love, men get and give, and leave him to his pain."

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There is no hour that has not its births of gladness and despair, no morning brightness that does not bring new sickness to desolation as well as new forces to genius and love. There are so many of us, and our lots are so different, what wonder that Nature's mood is often in harsh contrast with the great crisis of our lives?

— George Eliot