It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we

“It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger after them.”
Thus spoke George Eliot, whose pen, filled with wisdom and compassion, pierced the soul of human experience. In this saying, she gives voice to a divine truth: that the longing of the human heart is not a weakness, but a sacred fire. To long and to wish is to live — for desire is the pulse of the soul, the flame that keeps the spirit from growing cold. The moment we cease to yearn for what is beautiful and good, we begin to die inwardly. The restless ache for meaning, for truth, for love — this is not our curse; it is our glory.

Eliot, whose true name was Mary Ann Evans, knew the struggle between intellect and heart, duty and desire. She lived in a world that often bound women in silence, yet she wrote with the strength of a thousand voices. Her novels spoke not of saints or heroes, but of ordinary souls who longed for goodness and stumbled toward grace. She understood that longing itself is holy, for it drives the soul ever upward, toward what is higher than itself. To hunger after the good is to acknowledge that life, though imperfect, still offers glimpses of the divine — and that within us stirs a force that will never be still until it finds that light.

There is a profound beauty in this restlessness. The same hunger that drives the artist to create, the scientist to discover, and the lover to give all — it is the current of life itself. Think of Beethoven, who when struck deaf, did not surrender to despair. He could no longer hear the music of the world, but the symphony within him would not be silenced. Out of longing, he composed works that transcended sound itself. He hungered after beauty, though the world denied him its simplest form. And thus, from silence, he gave birth to eternal music. In him, Eliot’s words take flesh: to long deeply is to live fully.

This longing, however, is not without sorrow. For to yearn for the good and the beautiful is to feel, at times, the ache of their absence. Yet that ache is not despair — it is the soul remembering its origin. Even when the world seems barren, the hunger for goodness reminds us that something greater exists, and that we were made to reach for it. The heart that weeps at the sight of injustice proves that it was born for justice. The eyes that tear at the sight of beauty prove that they were made to behold the eternal. Longing is the bridge between what we are and what we might yet become.

And so, Eliot’s wisdom warns us: beware of those who claim to have no desires, no dreams, no hunger left. Such souls may seem at peace, but they are merely numb. The river of life no longer runs through them. To be thoroughly alive is to ache for more — more truth, more mercy, more light. Our desires are the messengers of our destiny. They whisper of who we are meant to be and of the good we are called to pursue. They lead us toward the highest expression of the self — toward the beautiful and good that dwells both within and beyond us.

Take this lesson, then, as a sacred charge: never surrender your longing. When the world hardens your heart, let longing soften it again. When you fail, let your yearning for the good lift you once more. Seek beauty even in ruin; seek goodness even in pain. Let your hunger guide your actions — for longing without labor is a dream, but longing with purpose is creation. Every prayer, every act of kindness, every quiet persistence in the face of despair — these are the works of those who hunger rightly.

And so, live as one who is thoroughly alive. Let your soul never grow complacent. Desire wisdom. Chase goodness. Pursue beauty. For in that pursuit, life reveals its truest splendor. The longing of the heart is not the mark of what we lack — it is the proof of what we are becoming. And as long as we hunger after the good, as long as we keep wishing for the beautiful, we remain bound not to despair, but to hope eternal — the immortal pulse of life itself.