The final test for a novel will be our affection for it, as it is the test of our friends, and of anything else which we cannot define.
E. M. ForsterThe woman who can't influence her husband to vote the way she wants ought to be ashamed of herself.
E. M. ForsterIt makes a difference doesn't it, whether we fully fence ourselves in, or whether we are fenced out by the barriers of others?
E. M. ForsterHe 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