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A review by mollycrwillis
Maurice by E.M. Forster
4.0
At one point, I thought I was going to rate this two stars. I’m still confused about my own feelings.
“He could die for such a friend, he would allow such a friend to die for him; they would make any sacrifice for each other, and count the world nothing, neither death nor distance nor crossness could part them, because ‘this is my friend.’”
“‘I should have gone through life half awake if you’d had the decency to leave me alone.’”
A line I will never stop thinking about: “‘You’re the eighth friend of Clive I’ve talked to in this way this morning.’” Oh, the AUDACITY.
“‘I’m an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort.’”
“After all, is not a real Hell better than a manufactured Heaven?”
“Love had failed. Love was an emotion through which you occasionally enjoyed yourself. It could not do things.”
“He could die for such a friend, he would allow such a friend to die for him; they would make any sacrifice for each other, and count the world nothing, neither death nor distance nor crossness could part them, because ‘this is my friend.’”
“‘I should have gone through life half awake if you’d had the decency to leave me alone.’”
A line I will never stop thinking about: “‘You’re the eighth friend of Clive I’ve talked to in this way this morning.’” Oh, the AUDACITY.
“‘I’m an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort.’”
“After all, is not a real Hell better than a manufactured Heaven?”
“Love had failed. Love was an emotion through which you occasionally enjoyed yourself. It could not do things.”