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.
E. M. FORSTERThe 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.
More E. M. Forster Quotes
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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 -
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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There are moments when the inner life actually ‘pays,’ when years of self-scrutiny, conducted for no ulterior motive, are suddenly of practical use.
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It is so difficult – at least, I find it difficult – to understand people who speak the truth.
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When I think of what life is, and how seldom love is answered by love; it is one of the moments for which the world was made.
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It isn’t possible to love and to part.
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One of the evils of money is that it tempts us to look at it rather than at the things that it buys.
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At night, when the curtains are drawn and the fire flickers, my books attain a collective dignity.
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We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.
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Love is a great force in private life; it is indeed the greatest of all things; but love in public affairs does not work.
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One has two duties – to be worried and not to be worried.
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I have no mystic faith in the people. I have in the individual.
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What is wonderful about great literature is that it transforms the man who reads it towards the condition of the man who wrote.
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It’s not what people do to you, but what they mean, that hurts.
E. M. FORSTER -
It was pleasant, too, to fling wide the windows, pinching the fingers in unfamiliar fastenings, to lean out into sunshine with beautiful hills and trees and marble churches opposite, and, close below, Arno, gurgling against the embankment of the road.
E. M. FORSTER