Quotes from E.M. Forster

Hardship is vanishing, but so is style, and the two are more closely connected than the present generation supposes.

He was a mediocre member of a mediocre school.

But all that night his body yearned for Alec's, despite him.

They were affectionate and consistent by nature, and, thanks to Clive, extremely sensible. Clive knew that ecstasy cannot last, but can carve a channel for something lasting, and he contrived a relation that proved permanent.

Conseguia controlar o corpo; era a alma maculada que fazia pouco das suas preces.

But the body is deeper than the soul and its secrets inscrutable.

Clive pulled him back into themselves. He murmured something about Eternity in an hour: Maurice did not understand, but the voice soothed him.

Perhaps anything that he did would have pleased Lucy, but his awkwardness went straight to her heart; men were not gods after all, but as human and as clumsy as girls; even men might suffer from unexplained desires, and need help.

One doesn't come to Italy for niceness," was the retort; "one comes for life. Buon giorno! Buon giorno!" bowing right and left. "Look at that adorable wine-cart! How the driver stares at us, dear, simple soul!

Yes: the heart of his agony would be loneliness. He took time to realize this, being slow. The incestuous jealousy, the mortification, the rage at his past obtuseness—these might pass, and having done much harm they did pass. Memories of Clive might pass. But the loneliness remained. He would wake and gasp "I've no one!" or "Oh Christ, what a world!

Then he changed the subject, and, being without memory, she recovered her temper.

Como é que tu achas que é o mundo das pessoas crescidas? -Não sei dizer. Sou um rapa- disse, com muita sinceridade. São muito traiçoeiras, sir? ---- Mr. Darcie (professor) e Maurice P.13, Maurice, E.M. Forster, Livros Cotovia, tradução de Jorge Ayres Roza de Oliveira P.13, Maurice

Gallantry, charity, and art pursued their various missions, perspiring and muddy, while out on the slopes beyond them stood the eternal man and the eternal dog, guarding eternal sheep until the world is vegetarian.

Most of life is so dull that there is nothing to be said about it, and the books and talk that would describe it as interesting are obliged to exaggerate, in the hope of justifying their own existence.

Clive, és um pateta, e, já que tocaste no assunto, posso dizer-te que te acho muito belo, a única pessoa bela que já vi na vida. Adoro a tua voz e tudo o que tem a ver contigo, até as tuas roupas ou a divisão onde estás sentado. Adoro-te.

Como é que tu achas que é o mundo das pessoas crescidas? -Não sei dizer. Sou um rapaz - disse, com muita sinceridade. - São muito traiçoeiras, sir? -------------~ Mr. Ducie (professor) e Maurice p.13, MAURICE - E.M. FORSTER, Livros Cotovia, 1989, esgotado, tradução: Jorge Ayres Roza de Oliveira

The keeper made out this was their fault, Archie knew better, and explained the matter to Maurice in the smoking-room with the aid of diagrams.

At this she grew angry. 'I worship nothing!' she cried. 'I am most advanced. I don't think you irreligious, for there is no such thing as religion left. All the fear and the superstition that existed once have been destroyed by the Machine. I only meant that to find out a way of your own was----Besides, there is no new way out.

The friendship between Margaret and Mrs. Wilcox, which was to develop so quickly and with such strange results, may perhaps have had its beginnings at Speyer, in the spring.

Porquê ter filhos? - perguntou. - Porquê ter sempre filhos? É muito mais belo que o amor termine onde começou, e a Natureza sabe-o.

Silence and loneliness cannot last for ever. It may be a hundred or a thousand years, but the sea lasts longer, and she shall come out of it and sing.

There was no one even to tell her which, of all the sepulchral slabs that paved the nave and transepts, was the one that was really beautiful, the one that had been most praised by Mr. Ruskin.

For if the will can overlap class, civilization as we have made it will go to pieces.

Mother, who toom?