The dead don’t die. They look on and help.
D. H. LAWRENCEThis is the very worst wickedness, that we refuse to acknowledge the passionate evil that is in us.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
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It’s not art for art’s sake, it’s art for my sake.
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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.
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For to desire is better than to possess, the finality of the end was dreaded as deeply as it was desired.
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That’s the place to get to – nowhere. One wants to wander away from the world’s somewheres, into our own nowhere.
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Their whole life depends on spending money, and now they’ve got none to spend. That’s our civilization and our education: bring up the masses to depend entirely on spending money, and then the money gives out.
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Mankind has got to get back to the rhythm of the cosmos.
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If only there weren’t so many other people in the world,’ he said lugubriously.
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There is nothing to save, now all is lost, but a tiny core of stillness in the heart like the eye of a violet.
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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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The human soul needs beauty more than bread.
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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.
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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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Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.
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You love me so much, you want to put me in your pocket. And there I will die smothered.
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If a woman hasn’t got a tiny streak of harlot in her, she’s a dry stick as a rule.
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She would have thought a woman would have died of shame. Instead of which, the shame died.
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When I hear modern people complain of being lonely then I know what has happened. They have lost the cosmos.
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The beautiful pure freedom of a woman was infinitely more wonderful than any sexual love.
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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.
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For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.
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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.
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Sometimes life takes hold of one, carries the body along, accomplishes one’s history, and yet is not real, but leaves oneself as it were slurred over.
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Used to all kinds of society, she watched people as one reads the pages of a novel, with a certain disinterested amusement.
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Don’t you find it a beautiful clean thought, a world empty of people, just uninterrupted grass, and a hare sitting up?
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If I were the moon, I know where I would fall down.
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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