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.
E. M. FORSTERPeople have their own deaths as well as their own lives, and even if there is nothing beyond death, we shall differ in our nothingness.
More E. M. Forster Quotes
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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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Do we find happiness so often that we should turn it off the box when it happens to sit there?
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Money pads the edges of things.
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She stopped and leant her elbows against the parapet of the embankment. He did likewise. There is at times a magic in identity of position; it is one of the things that have suggested to us eternal comradeship.
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One must be fond of people and trust them if one is not to make a mess of life.
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One has two duties – to be worried and not to be worried.
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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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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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Do not be proud of your inconsistency. It is a pity, it is a pity that we should be equipped like this. It is a pity that Man cannot be at the same time impressive and truthful.
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We move between two darknesses.
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The people I respect most behave as if they were immortal and as if society was eternal.
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I cannot help thinking that there is something to admire in everyone, even if you do not approve of them.
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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.
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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.
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It was pleasant to wake up in Florence, to open the eyes upon a bright bare room, with a floor of red tiles which look clean though they are not; with a painted ceiling whereon pink griffins and blue amorini sport in a forest of yellow violins and bassoons.
E. M. FORSTER