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"Adventures do occur, but not punctually."
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"Lured by the wilderness, and by the chance of spotting rare desert elephants, a few intrepid tourists make their way to the Skeleton Coast each year. It's just about as remote as any tourist destination on earth, but one that pays fabulous dividends."
"If you knew what lies ahead on the path, it would not be an adventure, now would it?"
"There's only one place I want to go and it's to all the places I've never been."
"I sail on the ocean of possibilities with the wind of hope and the current of desires moving me to the shore of uncertainty."
"Snakes don't have fuckin' legs, so how was I supposed to think there'd be one hidin' in the face of a damn rock that's ten feet below the summit?"
Explore more quotes by E. M. Forster
"The final test for a novel will be our affection for it, as it is the test of our friends, and of anything else which we cannot define."
"For a wonderful physical tie binds the parents to the children; and-by some sad, strange irony-it does not bind us children to our parents. For if it did, if we could answer their love not with gratitude but with equal love, life would lose much of its pathos and much of its squalor, and we might be wonderfully happy."
"I never could get on with representative individuals but people who existed on their own account and with whom it might therefore be possible to be friends."
"Our life on earth is and ought to be material and carnal. But we have not yet learned to manage our materialism and carnality properly they are still entangled with the desire for ownership."
"Mr. Herriton, don't " please, Mr. Herriton " a dentist. His father's a dentist. Philip gave a cry of personal disgust and pain. He shuddered all over, and edged away from his companion. A dentist! A dentist at Monteriano. A dentist in fairyland! False teeth and laughing gas and the tilting chair at a place which knew the Etruscan League, and the Pax Romana, and Alaric himself, and the Countess Matilda, and the Middle Ages, all fighting and holiness, and the Renaissance, all fighting and beauty! He thought of Lilia no longer. He was anxious for himself: he feared that Romance might die."
"The novel is a formidable mass, and it is so amorphous - no mountain in it to climb, no Parnassus or Helicon, not even a Pisgah. It is most distinctly one of the moister areas of literature - irrigated by a hundred rills and occasionally degenerating into a swamp. I do not wonder that the poets despise it, though they sometimes find themselves in it by accident. And I am not surprised at the annoyance of the historians when by accident it finds itself among them."
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