But Humanity, in its desire for comfort, had over-reached itself. It had exploited the riches of nature too far. Quietly and complacently, it was sinking into decadence, and progress had come to mean the progress of the Machine.
E. M. FORSTERShe had been so wicked that in all her life she had done only one good deed-given an onion to a beggar. So she went to hell. As she lay in torment she saw the onion, lowered down from heaven by an angel. She caught hold of it. He began to pull her up.
More E. M. Forster Quotes
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Give, do not lend; after death who will thank you?
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There is an aristocracy of the sensitive. They represent the true human tradition of permanent victory over cruelty and chaos.
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Works of art, in my opinion, are the only objects in the material universe to possess internal order, and that is why, though I don’t believe that only art matters, I do believe in Art for Art’s sake.
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Life is a public performance on the violin, in which you must learn the instrument as you go along.
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But it struck him that people are not really dead until they are felt to be dead. As long as there is some misunderstanding about them, they possess a sort of immortality.
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Only a writer who has the sense of evil can make goodness readable.
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Death destroys a man, but the idea of death saves him.
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Spoon feeding in the long run teaches us nothing but the shape of the spoon.
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It makes a difference doesn’t it, whether we fully fence ourselves in, or whether we are fenced out by the barriers of others?
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The only books that influence us are those for which we are ready, and which have gone a little farther down our particular path than we have yet got ourselves.
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One grows accustomed to being praised, or being blamed, or being advised, but it is unusual to be understood.
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It’s not what people do to you, but what they mean, that hurts.
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The king died and then the queen died is a story. The king died, and then queen died of grief is a plot.
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The other damned saw what was happening and caught hold of it too. She was indignant and cried, “Let go-it’s my onion,” and as soon as she said, “my onion,” the stalk broke and she fell back into the flames.
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To make us feel small in the right way is a function of art; men can only make us feel small in the wrong way.
E. M. FORSTER