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.
E. M. FORSTERHow can I know what I think till I see what I say?
More E. M. Forster Quotes
-
-
Don’t be mysterious; there isn’t the time.
E. M. FORSTER -
Only a writer who has the sense of evil can make goodness readable.
E. M. FORSTER -
If we act the truth the people who really love us are sure to come back to us in the long run
E. M. FORSTER -
Though life is very glorious, it is difficult.
E. M. FORSTER -
Mistrust all enterprises that require new clothes.
E. M. FORSTER -
There’s never any great risk as long as you have money.
E. M. FORSTER -
Think before you speak is criticism’s motto; speak before you think, creation’s.
E. M. FORSTER -
School was the unhappiest time of my life and the worst trick it ever played on me was to pretend that it was the world in miniature. For it hindered me from discovering how lovely and delightful and kind the world can be, and how much of it is intelligible.
E. M. FORSTER -
One grows accustomed to being praised, or being blamed, or being advised, but it is unusual to be understood.
E. M. FORSTER -
One person with passion is better than forty people merely interested.
E. M. FORSTER -
I think you’re beautiful, the only beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I love your voice and everything to do with you, down to your clothes or the room you are sitting in. I adore you.
E. M. FORSTER -
My conviction gains infinitely the moment another soul will believe in it.
E. M. FORSTER -
She 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.
E. M. FORSTER -
What is wonderful about great literature is that it transforms the man who reads it towards the condition of the man who wrote.
E. M. FORSTER -
Outside the arch, always there seemed another arch. And beyond the remotest echo, a silence.
E. M. FORSTER