By: E.M. Forster

They were dying by hundreds out in the dark.

By: E.M. Forster

“The Machine is stopping, I know it. I know the signs.”

By: E.M. Forster

Progress had come to mean the progress of the Machine.

By: E.M. Forster

A worm, a long white worm, had crawled out of the shaft.

By: E.M. Forster

“My respirator had flown goodness knows where.”

By: E.M. Forster

I said to myself, “Man is the measure.”

By: E.M. Forster

“No ideas here.”

By: E.M. Forster

Rooms, tier below tier, reaching far into the earth.

By: E.M. Forster

A survival from the ages of litter — one book.

By: E.M. Forster

“It is contrary to the spirit of the age.”