Outside the arch, always there seemed another arch. And beyond the remotest echo, a silence.
E. M. FORSTERMost of life is so dull that there is nothing to be said about it, and the books and talks that would describe it as interesting are obliged to exaggerate, in the hope of justifying their own existence.
More E. M. Forster Quotes
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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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A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself.
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My temple stands not upon Mount Moriah but in the Elysian Field where even the immoral are admitted. My motto is ‘Lord, I disbelieve – help thou my unbelief.
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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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Life never gives us what we want at the moment that we consider appropriate.
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There’s never any great risk as long as you have money.
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I believe in teaching people to be individuals, and to understand other individuals.
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Only a writer who has the sense of evil can make goodness readable.
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Let yourself go. Pull out from the depths those thoughts that you do not understand, and spread them out in the sunlight and know the meaning of them.
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It’s not what people do to you, but what they mean, that hurts.
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Science is better than sympathy, if only it is science.
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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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Most of life is so dull that there is nothing to be said about it, and the books and talks that would describe it as interesting are obliged to exaggerate, in the hope of justifying their own existence.
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Inside its cocoon of work or social obligation, the human spirit slumbers for the most part, registering the distinction between pleasure and pain, but not nearly as alert as we pretend.
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What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives?
E. M. FORSTER