“There are moments when I feel Howards End peculiarly our own." "All the same, London's creeping." She pointed over the meadow--over eight or nine me… - E. M. Forster
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“There are moments when I feel Howards End peculiarly our own." "All the same, London's creeping." She pointed over the meadow--over eight or nine meadows, but at the end of them was a red rust. "You see that in Surrey and even Hampshire now," she continued. "I can see it from the Purbeck Downs. And London is only part of something else, I'm afraid. Life's going to be melted down, all over the world." Margaret knew that her sister spoke truly. Howards End, Oniton, the Purbeck Downs, the Oderberge, were all survivals, and the melting-pot was being prepared for them. Logically, they had no right to be alive. One's hope was in the weakness of logic. Were they possibly the earth beating time?
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About
E. M. Forster
Edward Morgan Forster (1 January 1879 – 7 July 1970) was an English novelist, short story writer, and essayist.
Biography information from
Wikiquote·
Portrait adapted from
Wikimedia Commons, Dora Carrington (1893–1932) (Public domain / CC0)
Also Known As
Birth Name:
Edward Morgan Forster
Alternative Names:
EM Forster
•
E Forster
•
Edward Forster
Books have to be read (worse luck, for it takes a long time); it is the only way of discovering what they contain.
A mirror does not develop because an historical pageant passes in front of it. It only develops when it gets a fresh coat of quicksilver — in other words, when it acquires new sensitiveness; and the novel’s success lies in its own sensitiveness, not in the success of its subject matter.
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