I suppose one reason why we are seldom able to comfort our neighbours with our words is that our goodwill gets adulterated, in spite of ourselves, before it can pass our lips. We can send black puddings and pettitoes without giving them a flavour of our own egoism; but language is a stream that is almost sure to smack of a mingled soil. There was a fair proportion of kindness in Raveloe; but it was often of a beery and bungling sort, and took the shape least allied to the complimentary and hypocritical.
The quote reflects on the challenges of expressing genuine goodwill through words, suggesting that our intentions can be spoiled by personal ego before we communicate them. While we can offer tangible gifts without personal bias, the essence of language often carries our mixed feelings and complexities, making it difficult to convey pure kindness. This highlights the inherent struggle in human communication where sincerity is often clouded by our self-interest.
The excerpt also touches on the nature of kindness in the community of Raveloe, which, though present, is often clumsy and lacking refinement. The kindness displayed is described as "beery and bungling," indicating that it may not always be sincere or well-expressed, sometimes bordering on being insincere. Eliot reveals the complexities of human emotions and how they affect interpersonal interactions, emphasizing that true compassion can be difficult to articulate without tainting it with our own flaws.
