Howards End

by E.M. Forster

One may as well begin with Helen’s letters to her sister.

Ugh you already just KNOW how good this is going to be

These, too, would be swept away in time, and another promontory would arise upon their site, as humanity piled itself higher and higher on the precious soil of London.

his mucous membrane, he informed her, in a most unsatisfactory condition.

Same

Emily’s daughters had never been quite like other girls.

Big old side-eye but ok

though the Foreign Things did admirably and the Nottingham and Derby declined with the steady dignity of which only Home Rails are capable, Mrs. Munt never ceased to rejoice,

the sharp depressions at the corners of his mouth, or in the rather box–like construction of his forehead.

Wow, burn this guy to the ground

really this young man was very kind.

MMMM... is he?

Mrs. Munt did not often lose her temper, and when she did it was only to protect those whom she loved. On this occasion she blazed out.

Aw

there was actually a wisp of hay in her hands. She seemed to belong not to the young people and their motor, but to the house, and to the tree that overshadowed it.

New ideas had burst upon her like a thunderclap, and by them and by their reverberations she had been stunned. The truth was that she had fallen in love, not with an individual, but with a family.

when Paul appeared, flushed with the triumph of getting through an examination, and ready to flirt with any pretty girl, Helen met him halfway,

As one does

the heave of her bosom flattered him. Passion was possible,

I felt for a moment that the whole Wilcox family was a fraud, just a wall of newspapers and motor–cars and golf–clubs, and that if it fell I should find nothing behind it but panic and emptiness."

"To think that because you and a young man meet for a moment, there must be all these telegrams and anger,"

either God does not know his own mind about England and Germany, or else these do not know the mind of God."

she could not enter into the distinction that divides young men whom one takes an interest in from young men whom one knows.

But the goblins were there. They could return. He had said so bravely, and that is why one can trust Beethoven when he says other things.

Margaret had an almost morbid horror of "drawing people out," of "making things go."

"But, of course, the real villain is Wagner.

Always

Her speeches fluttered away from the young man like birds.

he could not quite forget about his stolen umbrella. Yes, the umbrella was the real trouble. Behind Monet and Debussy the umbrella persisted, with the steady beat of a drum.

There had always been something to worry him ever since he could remember, always something that distracted him in the pursuit of beauty.

SAME LEONARD

her face seemed all teeth and eyes,

Yikes

"Oh, I am so sorry!" cried Helen, all her hair flying. She had pulled off her hat as soon as she returned, and had flung herself into the big dining–room chair. "I do nothing but steal umbrellas.

'It’s better to be fooled than to be suspicious'—that the confidence trick is the work of man, but the want–of–confidence trick is the work of the devil."

"If you smoked too, the house might suddenly turn masculine. Atmosphere is probably a question of touch and go. Even at Queen Victoria’s dinner–party—if something had been just a little Different—perhaps if she’d worn a clinging Liberty tea–gown instead of a magenta satin." "With an India shawl over her shoulders—" "Fastened at the bosom with a Cairngorm–pin."

"How inconceivable it would be if the Royal Family cared about Art."

WE are not concerned with the very poor. They are unthinkable and only to be approached by the statistician or the poet. This story deals with gentlefolk, or with those who are obliged to pretend that they are gentlefolk.

Jesus, Forster

He was not in the abyss, but he could see it,

the angel of Democracy had arisen, enshadowing the classes with leathern wings, and proclaiming, "All men are equal—all men, that is to say, who possess umbrellas,"

NO UMBRELLA NO DEMOCRACY

The sitting–room contained, besides the armchair, two other chairs, a piano, a three–legged table, and a cosy corner.

She seemed all strings and bell–pulls—ribbons, chains, bead necklaces that clinked and caught and a boa of azure feathers hung round her neck, with the ends uneven.

For instance, when you came in I was reading Ruskin’s Stones of Venice. I don’t say this to boast, but just to show you the kind of man I am. I can tell you, I enjoyed that classical concert this afternoon."

He’s freaking Holden Caulfield

Presently she called him again. "I must clean my boots ready for the morning," he answered. Presently she called him again. "I rather want to get this chapter done." "What?" He closed his ears against her. "What’s that?" "All right, Jacky, nothing; I’m reading a book." "What?"

"Money pads the edges of things," said Miss Schlegel. "God help those who have none."

Helen and I, we ought to remember, when we are tempted to criticise others, that we are standing on these islands, and that most of the others are down below the surface of the sea.

"You love one of the young gentlemen opposite, yes?" The remark would be untrue, but of the kind which, if stated often enough, may become true;

they belong to types that can fall in love, but couldn’t live together.

a car for a wedding present, which for the present is being stored at Howards End." "I suppose you have a garage there?" "Yes. My husband built a little one only last month, to the west of the house, not far from the wych–elm, in what used to be the paddock for the pony." The last words had an indescribable ring about them. "Where’s the pony gone?" asked Margaret after a pause. "The pony? Oh, dead, ever so long ago." "The wych–elm I remember. Helen spoke of it as a very splendid tree." "It is the finest wych–elm in Hertfordshire.

played with the photograph frame, dropped it, smashed Dolly’s glass, apologised, was pardoned, cut her finger thereon, was pitied,

Echoes Jacky's frame, though not sure why that’s happening

"I—I wonder whether you ever think about yourself?" "I think of nothing else," said Margaret, blushing,

Life’s very difficult and full of surprises. At all events, I’ve got as far as that. To be humble and kind, to go straight ahead, to love people rather than pity them, to remember the submerged—well, one can’t do all these things at once, worse luck, because they’re so contradictory.

Clever talk alarmed her, and withered her delicate imaginings; it was the social counterpart of a motor–car, all jerks, and she was a wisp of hay, a flower.

Too delicate for conversation, huh

The German is always on the lookout for beauty. He may miss it through stupidity, or misinterpret it, but he is always asking beauty to enter his life, and I believe that in the end it will come.

Of course Bocklin strains, because he wants something—beauty and all the other intangible gifts that are floating about the world.

To be parted from your house, your father’s house—it oughtn’t to be allowed. It is worse than dying. I would rather die than—Oh, poor girls! Can what they call civilisation be right, if people mayn’t die in the room where they were born? My dear, I am so sorry." Margaret did not know what to say. Mrs. Wilcox had been overtired by the shopping, and was inclined to hysteria.

"Howards End was nearly pulled down once. It would have killed me." "I—Howards End must be a very different house to ours.

The funeral was over. The carriages had rolled away through the soft mud, and only the poor remained.

Ruth knew no more of worldly wickedness and wisdom than did the flowers in her garden, or the grass in her field.

Her husband worked his jaw severely. Little lumps appeared in front of either ear—a symptom that she had not yet learnt to respect, and she asked whether she might see the note.