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What liars poets and everybody were! They made one think one wanted sentiment. When what one supremely wanted was this piercing, consuming, rather awful sensuality.

D. H. Lawrence

Love is never a fulfillment. Life is never a thing of continuous bliss. There is no paradise. Fight and laugh and feel bitter and feel bliss: and fight again. Fight, fight. That is life.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Feeling Fight Laughter Life Love Satisfaction
He worked very hard, till nothing lived in him but his eyes.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Eyes Himself Live
I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Instagram Captions Life Live Myself Night Regret
If I were the moon, I know where I would fall down.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Fall Love Moon Myself
Instead of chopping yourself down to fit the world, chop the world down to fit yourself.
D. H. LAWRENCE

World Yourself
The essential American soul is hard, isolate, stoic, and a killer. It has never yet melted.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Kill Soul
I like to write when I feel spiteful. It is like having a good sneeze.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Feeling Goodness Myself Writing
A little morphine in all the air. It would be wonderfully refreshing for everyone.
D. H. LAWRENCE

People Wonderful
She thought she loved, she thought she was full of love.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Herself Love
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.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Kill Man Ourselves Right World
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

Hands Life Man Touch Transformation Weakness
Nobody knows you. You don’t know yourself. And I, who am half in love with you, What am I in love with? My own imaginings?
D. H. LAWRENCE

Imagination Love Philosophy Relationship Yourself
That’s the place to get to – nowhere. One wants to wander away from the world’s somewheres, into our own nowhere.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Oneself Philsophy Place World
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself
D. H. LAWRENCE

Myself Sorry Wild
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

Art Breathe Life Oneself
But the act, called the sexual act, is not for the depositing of seed. It is for leaping off into the unknown, as from a cliff’s edge, like Sappho into the sea.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Act Sea Sex

What liars poets and everybody were! They made one think one wanted sentiment. When what one supremely wanted was this piercing, consuming, rather awful sensuality.

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What liars poets and everybody were! They made one think one wanted sentiment. When what one supremely wanted was this piercing, consuming, rather awful sensuality.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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