I’ve finished Howards End by E. M. Forster. It’s a classic, so saying that it’s a very well-written book is an understatement. I liked the way he explores humanity through the characters of the book, and even seems to make self-discoveries, both disappointing and heartening ones, as he pens his thoughts into narration. This book is also one that many say is the closest to his real, personal views, so it’s no surprise that Howards End reveals Forster’s rhetorics on being able to connect and reconcile the poetic with the practical.
Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd is the next journey I’m embarking on. It’s quite a thick book, but for now, its writings seem far simpler than Forster’s almost-poetic Howards End.
I’ve almost forgotten where reading takes me, and it’s a nice feeling to be able to soak up the imagination of the author, to step into his shoes (or the characters’) and view the novel through the eyes of a sensitive, intellectual soul. I’m too easily influenced, yes, and as you can already see — my sentences are much longer than what I’d use to type. My train of thought has somewhat been romanticised by Howards End. Connect. Practicality has too long been holding me down, and I’m surprised to find myself a little ashamed to identify with the practical sensibility of the Wilcoxes. I wish that my senses and thoughts can once again run wild into the abandoned forest growing at the back of my mind. Of course, not yet without caution; thistles, wild animals and insects will bite and sting.
I laugh at my sillyness. Perhaps I’m not ready to put practicality away. Or maybe, not ever. Oh well.
. Yea, 
