You love me so much, you want to put me in your pocket. And there I will die smothered.
D. H. LAWRENCEHe 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.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
-
-
This is the very worst wickedness, that we refuse to acknowledge the passionate evil that is in us.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
And besides, look at elder flowers and bluebells-they are a sign that pure creation takes place – even the butterfly.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
She would have thought a woman would have died of shame. Instead of which, the shame died.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
The beautiful pure freedom of a woman was infinitely more wonderful than any sexual love.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
The essential American soul is hard, isolate, stoic, and a killer. It has never yet melted.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
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 -
She thought she loved, she thought she was full of love.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
She was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.
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 -
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.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
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 -
Perhaps only people who are capable of real togetherness have that look of being alone in the universe. The others have a certain stickiness, they stick to the mass.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
It’s not art for art’s sake, it’s art for my sake.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
One sheds ones sickness in books- repeats and presents again ones emotions, to be master of them.
D. H. LAWRENCE