My conviction gains infinitely the moment another soul will believe in it. E. M. Forster More Quotes by E. M. Forster More Quotes From E. M. Forster The woman who can't influence her husband to vote the way she wants ought to be ashamed of herself. E. M. Forster husband literature want Logic! Good gracious! What rubbish! E. M. Forster rubbish logic literature Tolerance is a very dull virtue. It is boring. Unlike love, it has always had a bad press. It is negative. It merely means putting up with people, being able to stand things. E. M. Forster love mean people For a wonderful physical tie binds the parents to the children; and - by some sad, strange irony - it does not bind us children to our parents. For if it did, if we could answer their love not with gratitude but with equal love, life would lose much of its pathos and much of its squalor, and we might be wonderfully happy. E. M. Forster love-life gratitude children The bully and his victim never quite forget their first relations. E. M. Forster bully forget firsts I would rather be a coward than brave because people hurt you when you are brave. E. M. Forster hurt fear people I have almost completed a long novel, but it is unpublishable until my death and England's. E. M. Forster novel england long He educated Maurice, or rather his spirit educated Maurice's spirit, for they themselves became equal. Neither thought "Am I led; am I leading?" Love had caught him out of triviality and Maurice out of bewilderment in order that two imperfect souls might touch perfection. E. M. Forster perfection two order Only a struggle twists sentimentality and lust together into love. E. M. Forster lust struggle together This solitude opressed her; she was accustomed to have her thoughts confirmed by others or, at all events, contradicted; it was too dreadful not to know whether she was thinking right or wrong. E. M. Forster events solitude thinking It was unbearable, and he thought again, 'How unhappy I am!' and became happier. E. M. Forster unbearable unhappy I am certainly an ought and not a must. E. M. Forster ought literature He stretched out his hands as he sang, sadly, because all beauty is sad…The poem had done no ‘good’ to anyone, but it was a passing reminder, a breath from the divine lips of beauty, a nightingale between two worlds of dust. Less explicit than the call to Krishna, it voiced our loneliness nevertheless, our isolation, our need for the Friend who never comes yet is not entirely disproved. E. M. Forster dust loneliness hands Life's very difficult and full of surprises. At all events, I've got as far as that. To be humble and kind, to go straight ahead, to love people rather than pity them, to remember the submerged - well, one can't do all these things at once, worse luck, because they're so contradictory. It's then that proportion comes in - to live by proportion. Don't begin with proportion. Only prigs do that. Let proportion come in as a last resource, when the better things have failed. E. M. Forster luck humble people But nothing in India is identifiable, the mere asking of a question causes it to disappear or to merge in something else. E. M. Forster india literature asking You do care a little for me, I know... but nothing to speak of, and you don't love me. I was yours once till death if you'd cared to keep me, but I'm someone else's now... and he's mine in a way that shocks you, but why don't you stop being shocked, and attend to your own happiness. E. M. Forster care littles way What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives? They have never entered into mine, but into yours, we thought--Haven't we all to struggle against life's daily greyness, against pettiness, against mechanical cheerfulness, against suspicion? I struggle by remembering my friends; others I have known by remembering some place--some beloved place or tree--we thought you one of these. E. M. Forster stars struggle wind I believe in teaching people to be individuals, and to understand other individuals. E. M. Forster teaching believe people It's not what people do to you, but what they mean, that hurts. E. M. Forster hurt mean people 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. 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. Forster flames angel letting-go
