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. LAWRENCENever trust the teller, trust the tale. The proper function of a critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
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One sheds ones sickness in books- repeats and presents again ones emotions, to be master of them.
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 -
When I hear modern people complain of being lonely then I know what has happened. They have lost the cosmos.
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 -
Instead of chopping yourself down to fit the world, chop the world down to fit yourself.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
This is the very worst wickedness, that we refuse to acknowledge the passionate evil that is in us.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
He worked very hard, till nothing lived in him but his eyes.
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 -
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.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
I love trying things and discovering how I hate them.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Used to all kinds of society, she watched people as one reads the pages of a novel, with a certain disinterested amusement.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.
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 -
Now go away then, and leave me alone. I don’t want any more of your meretricious persiflage.
D. H. LAWRENCE