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.
E. M. ForsterI never could get on with representative individuals but people who existed on their own account and with whom it might therefore be possible to be friends.
E. M. ForsterThere was something better in life than this rubยญbish, if only he could get to itโloveโnobilityโbig spaces where passion clasped peace, spaces no science could reach, but they existed for ever, full of woods some of them, and arched with majestic sky and a friend. . .
E. M. Forster