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. LAWRENCETheir 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.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
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One must learn to love, and go through a good deal of suffering to get to it, and the journey is always towards the other soul.
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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.
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It’s not art for art’s sake, it’s art for my sake.
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The dead don’t die. They look on and help.
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He 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.
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I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
We fucked a flame into being.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Obscenity only comes in when the mind despises and fears the body, and the body hates and resists the mind.
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Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved.
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They lived freely among the students, they argued with the men over philosophical, sociological and artistic matters, they were just as good as the men themselves: only better, since they were women.
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Never was an age more sentimental, more devoid of real feeling, more exaggerated in false feeling, than our own.
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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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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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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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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.
D. H. LAWRENCE