That’s the place to get to – nowhere. One wants to wander away from the world’s somewheres, into our own nowhere.
D. H. LAWRENCEThere is nothing to save, now all is lost, but a tiny core of stillness in the heart like the eye of a violet.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
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The world is a raving idiot, and no man can kill it: though I’ll do my best. But you’re right. We must rescue ourselves as best we can.
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Be sure your sins will find you out, especially if you’re married and her name’s Bertha.
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Perhaps only those people who are capable of real togetherness have that look of being alone in the world.
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But humanity never gets beyond the caterpillar stage -it rots in the chrysalis, it never will have wings.It is anti-creation, like monkeys and baboons.
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The novel is the one bright book of life. Books are not life. They are only tremulations on the ether. But the novel as a tremulation can make the whole man alive tremble.
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Give up bearing children and bear hope and love and devotion to those already born.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Never trust the teller, trust the tale. The proper function of a critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it.
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If I were the moon, I know where I would fall down.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Money poisons you when you’ve got it, and starves you when you haven’t.
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Those that go searching for love only make manifest their own lovelessness, and the loveless never find love, only the loving find love, and they never have to seek for it.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
You’re always begging things to love you, he said, as if you were a beggar for love. Even the flowers, you have to fawn on them–
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And besides, look at elder flowers and bluebells-they are a sign that pure creation takes place – even the butterfly.
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Vitally, the human race is dying. It is like a great uprooted tree, with its roots in the air. We must plant ourselves again in the universe.
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I can never decide whether my dreams are the result of my thoughts or my thoughts the result of my dreams.
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He knew that conscience was chiefly fear of society or fear of oneself.
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She was not herself–she was not anything. She was something that is going to be–soon–soon–very soon. But as yet, she was only imminent.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Now go away then, and leave me alone. I don’t want any more of your meretricious persiflage.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.
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He felt he had lost it for good, he knew what it was to have been in communication with her, and to be cast off again. In misery, his heart like a heavy stone, he went about unliving.
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I love trying things and discovering how I hate them.
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Things men have made with wakened hands, and put soft life into are awake through years with transferred touch, and go on glowing for long years.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
They stood together in a false intimacy, a nervous contact. And he was in love with her.
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I fear my enthusiasm flags when real work is demanded of me.
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Mankind has got to get back to the rhythm of the cosmos.
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Every true artist is the salvation of every other. Only artists produce for each other a world that is fit to live in.
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What one does in one’s art, that is the breath of one’s being. What one does in one’s life, that is a bagatelle for the outsiders to fuss about.
D. H. LAWRENCE