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. LAWRENCEWhen I hear modern people complain of being lonely then I know what has happened. They have lost the cosmos.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
-
-
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself
D. H. LAWRENCE -
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.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved.
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 -
I can never decide whether my dreams are the result of my thoughts or my thoughts the result of my dreams.
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 -
She was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
All that we know is nothing, we are merely crammed wastepaper baskets,unless we are in touch with that which laughs at all our knowing.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
The beautiful pure freedom of a woman was infinitely more wonderful than any sexual love.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
The dead don’t die. They look on and help.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
She thought she loved, she thought she was full of 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 -
I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Be sure your sins will find you out, especially if you’re married and her name’s Bertha.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Never was an age more sentimental, more devoid of real feeling, more exaggerated in false feeling, than our own.
D. H. LAWRENCE