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. LAWRENCEMoney poisons you when you’ve got it, and starves you when you haven’t.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
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Life is ours to be spent, not to be saved.
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Be sure your sins will find you out, especially if you’re married and her name’s Bertha.
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We fucked a flame into being.
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He worked very hard, till nothing lived in him but his eyes.
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There is no pornography without a secrecy.
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And besides, look at elder flowers and bluebells-they are a sign that pure creation takes place – even the butterfly.
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I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself
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We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
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One sheds ones sickness in books- repeats and presents again ones emotions, to be master of them.
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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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There’s lots of good fish in the sea, maybe, but the vast masses seem to be mackerel or herring, and if you’re not mackerel or herring yourself, you are likely to find very few good fish in the sea.
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You’re always begging things to love you, he said, as if you were a beggar for love. Even the flowers, you have to fawn on them–
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The human being is a most curious creature. He thinks he has got one soul, and he has got dozens.
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Money poisons you when you’ve got it, and starves you when you haven’t.
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I like to write when I feel spiteful. It is like having a good sneeze.
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If only there weren’t so many other people in the world,’ he said lugubriously.
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I love trying things and discovering how I hate them.
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But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions.
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Man is a mistake. He must go.
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They stood together in a false intimacy, a nervous contact. And he was in love with her.
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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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One could laugh at the world better if it didn’t mix tender kindliness with its brutality.
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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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The dead don’t die. They look on and help.
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It is a fine thing to establish one’s own religion in one’s heart, not to be dependent on tradition and second-hand ideals. Life will seem to you, later, not a lesser, but a greater thing.
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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.
D. H. LAWRENCE