Frases de E.M. Forster
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Edward Morgan Forster, OM, CH fue un novelista, ensayista y libretista inglés. Sus obras abordan las diferencias de clase y la hipocresía de la sociedad británica de principios del siglo XX.

✵ 1. enero 1879 – 7. junio 1970   •   Otros nombres Е. М. Форстер
E.M. Forster Foto
E.M. Forster: 208   frases 5   Me gusta

Frases célebres de E.M. Forster

“En ese preciso momento el camino se abría y con una exclamación Lucy se encontró fuera del bosque. Luz y belleza la envolvía. Había ido a dar a una pequeña terraza que estaba cubierta de violetas de un extremo a otro.
- ¡Valor! -exclamó su compañero, erguido a unos seis pies de altura respecto a ella-. Valor y amor.
Ella no respondió. A sus pies el suelo se cortaba bruscamente dando paso a la panorámica. Violetas que se agrupaban alrededor de arroyos y corrientes y cascadas, regando la vertiente de la colina de azul, arremolinándose alrededor de los troncos de los árboles, formando lagunas en los agujeros, cubriendo la hierba con manchas de espuma azulada. Jamás volvería a haberlas en tal profusión. La terraza era el principio de lo bello, la fuente original donde la belleza hacía brotar agua que iba a la tierra.
De pie en el margen, como un nadador que se prepara, estaba el buen hombre. Pero no era el buen hombre que ella había pensado, y estaba solo.
George se había vuelto al oír su llegada. Por un momento la contempló, como si fuera alguien que bajaba de los cielos. Vio la radiante alegría en su cara, las flores que batían su vestido en olas azuladas. Los arbustos que la encerraban por encima. Subió rápidamente hasta donde estaba ella y la besó.
Antes de que ella pudiera decir algo, casi antes de que pudiera sentir nada, una voz llamó: ¡Lucy!, ¡Lucy!, ¡Lucy!. La señorita Bartlett, que era una mancha oscura en la panorámica, había roto el silencio de la vida.”

A Room with a View

E.M. Forster: Frases en inglés

“Always fatuity, vulgarity, as soon as human passion is touched. […] Just as some poetry is of the eye (form, colour) and some of the ear, so Keats is of the palate. Not only has he constant reference to its pleasures, but the general sensation after reading him is one of tasting. 'What's the harm?”

Well, taste for some reason or the other can't carry one far into the world of beauty—that reason being perhaps that though you don't want comradership there you do want the possibility of comradership, and A cannot swallow B's mouthful by any possibility:....and this exclusiveness (to maunder on) also attaches to the physical side of sex though not the least to the spiritual.
Letter 162, to Malcolm Darling, 1 December 1916
Selected Letters (1983-1985)

“Music is the deepest of the arts and deep beneath the arts.”

Harvard University Department of Music, Music and Criticism, A Symposium (May 1947; published 1948, p. 11 https://archive.org/details/musiccriticismsy00symp/page/10)

“As for 'story' I never yet did enjoy a novel or play in which someone didn't tell me afterward that there was something wrong with the story, so that's going to be no drawback as far as I'm concerned. "Good Lord, why am I so bored"—"I know; it must be the plot developing harmoniously."”

So I often reply to myself, and there rises before me my special nightmare—that of the writer as craftsman, natty and deft.
Letter 104, to Forrest Reid, 19 June 1912
Selected Letters (1983-1985)

“What puzzles me most is your criticism that he showed 'no sense of engagement.”

I haven't met the expression before, and feel bound to comment on its totalitarian tang. Engagement not with the truth as the speaker apprehends it, but with the alleged opinion of the majority of listeners.
Letter 400, to John Morris, 12 January 1953
Selected Letters (1983-1985)

“Why can't we be friends now?' said the other, holding him affectionately. 'It's what I want. It's what you want.”

E.M. Forster libro A Passage to India

But the horses didn't want it — they swerved apart: the earth didn't want it, sending up rocks through which riders must pass single file; the temple, the tank, the jail, the palace, the birds, the carrion, the Guest House, that came into view as they emerged from the gap and saw Mau beneath: they didn't want it, they said in their hundred voices 'No, not yet,' and the sky said 'No, not there.'
Fuente: A Passage to India (1924), Ch. 37

“There are moments when I feel Howards End peculiarly our own." "All the same, London's creeping.”

E.M. Forster libro Howards End

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?
Fuente: Howards End (1910), Ch. 44

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