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Review: Howard's EndUser Review - Trisha - Goodreads
I was really torn on how to rate this novel. Even though there were parts of the plot line that were very interesting, the writing style itself was sooooo slow. There were long passages that just ... Read full review
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Review: Howards EndUser Review - Heleen - Goodreads
I really loved this book. It's been on my to-read list for a long time. Forster starts his novel in a very light-hearted way. The characters are likeable and funny. As they mature and face the ... Read full review
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answer asked Aunt Juley Bast beautiful began better brother Chapter Charles Chelsea Embankment cried dear death dining-room Dolly Dolly's door Ducie Street E. M. Forster Evie Evie's eyes father feel felt flat Frieda friends furniture garden garet Germany girl give gone grey hall hand heard Helen Henry Hertfordshire Hilton hope Howards End husband Jacky knew ladies laughed leave Leonard live London look lunch Margaret married mean mind Miss Avery Miss Schlegel morning Mosebach mother motor moved Munt never night once Oniton Paul perhaps poor Porphyrion Queen's Hall remember replied round seemed Shropshire sister Six Hills sort stop suppose sure Swanage talk tell Tewin There's things thought Tibby tion told took turned umbrella voice walk What's Wickham Place wife Wilcox woman women wonder word wrong young
Page 132 - One guessed him as the third generation, grandson to the shepherd or ploughboy whom civilization had sucked into the town; as one of the thousands who have lost the life of the body and failed to reach the life of the spirit.
Page 308 - It was the presence of sadness at all that surprised Margaret, and ended by giving her a feeling of completeness. In these English farms, if anywhere, one might see life steadily and see it whole, group in one vision its transitoriness and its eternal youth, connect connect without bitterness until all men are brothers.
Page 213 - Mature as he was, she might yet be able to help him to the building of the rainbow bridge that should connect the prose in us with the passion. Without it we are meaningless fragments, half monks, half beasts, unconnected arches that have never joined into a man.
Page 214 - Only connect ! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect, and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to either, will die.
Page 38 - IT will be generally admitted that Beethoven's Fifth Symphony is the most sublime noise that has ever penetrated into the ear of man.
Page 16 - They are our gates to the glorious and the unknown. Through them we pass out into adventure and sunshine, to them alas! we return. In Paddington all Cornwall is latent and the remoter west; down the inclines of Liverpool Street lie fenlands and the illimitable Broads; Korean alas: oH-, 4-*l:a. <r?>3i S\, ^«fe ^H-^o], sensibly: «!i?!«}7i iP]-E...
Page 28 - They were all silent. It was Mrs. Wilcox. She approached just as Helen's letter had described her, trailing noiselessly over the lawn, and 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.
Page 370 - That they were men of the finest type only the sentimentalist can declare. But they kept to the life of daylight. They are England's hope. Clumsily they carry forward the torch of the sun, until such time as the nation sees fit to take it up. Half clodhopper, half board-school prig, they can still throw back to a nobler stock, and breed yeomen.
Page 41 - Beethoven chose to make all right in the end. He built the ramparts up. He blew with his mouth for the second time, and again the goblins were scattered. He brought back the gusts of splendour, the heroism, the youth, the magnificence of life and of death, and amid vast roarings of superhuman joy, he led his Fifth Symphony to its conclusion.
Page 379 - There was nothing else to be done; the time for telegrams and anger was over, and it seemed wisest that the hands of Leonard should be folded on his breast and be filled with flowers. Here was the father; leave it at that. Let Squalor be turned into Tragedy, whose eyes are the stars, and whose hands hold the sunset and the dawn.
From Google Scholar
Bronislaw Szerszynski, John Urry - 2002 - The Sociological Review
Mary Taylor Huber, Pat Hutchings
Mary E Virnoche, Gary T Marx - 1997 - Sociological Inquiry
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Mica Nava - Theory, Culture & Society