It isn’t possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.
E. M. FORSTERYou can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you.
More E. M. Forster Quotes
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Human relations are impossible. When they are real they are uncomfortable, and when they are comfortable they are unreal. It was for the journey into solitude that the human soul was created.
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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.
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Death destroys a man, but the idea of death saves him.
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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.
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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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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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I cannot help thinking that there is something to admire in everyone, even if you do not approve of them.
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… there are shadows because there are hills.
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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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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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I am sure that if the mothers of various nations could meet, there would be no more wars.
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You confuse what’s important with what’s impressive.
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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.
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Creative writers are always greater than the causes that they represent.
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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.
E. M. FORSTER






