There is nothing to save, now all is lost, but a tiny core of stillness in the heart like the eye of a violet.
D. H. LAWRENCEHow she hated words, always coming between her and her life: they did the ravishing, if anything did: ready-made words and phrases, sucking all the live-sap out of living things.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
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A woman unsatisfied must have luxuries. But a woman who loves a man would sleep on a board
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Be a good animal,true to your instincts.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
The only rule is, do what you really, impulsively, wish to do. But always act on your own responsibility, sincerely. And have the courage of your own strong emotion.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
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 -
For God’s sake, all of you, say spiteful things about me, then I shall know I mean something to you. Don’t say surgaries, or I’m done.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
How she hated words, always coming between her and her life: they did the ravishing, if anything did: ready-made words and phrases, sucking all the live-sap out of living things.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
If a woman hasn’t got a tiny streak of harlot in her, she’s a dry stick as a rule.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
When I hear modern people complain of being lonely then I know what has happened. They have lost the cosmos.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
As we all know, too much of any divine thing is destruction
D. H. LAWRENCE -
She was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
The beautiful pure freedom of a woman was infinitely more wonderful than any sexual love.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
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







