Don't believe those lies about intellectual people. They're only written to soothe the majority.

You talk as if a god had made the Machine," cried the other. "I believe that you pray to it when you are unhappy. Men made it, do not forget that. Great men, but men. The Machine is much, but not everything.

The present flowed by them like a stream. The tree rustled. It had made music before they were born, and would continue after their deaths, but its song was of the moment. The moment had passed. The tree rustled again. Their senses were sharpened, and they seemed to apprehend life. Life passed. The tree rustled again.

The hungry and the homeless don't care about liberty any more than they care about cultural heritage. To pretend that they do care is cant.

She only felt that the candle would burn better, the packing go easier, the world be happier, if she could give and receive some human love.

It is the vice of a vulgar mind to be thrilled by bigness, to think that a thousand square miles are a thousand times more wonderful than one square mile, and that a million square miles are almost the same as heaven.

If Miss Honeychurch ever takes to live as she plays, it will be very exciting--both for us and for her.