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
Man is a mistake. He must go.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
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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.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Recklessness is almost a man’s revenge on his woman.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
And besides, look at elder flowers and bluebells-they are a sign that pure creation takes place – even the butterfly.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
When we really want to go for something better, we shall smash the old. Until then, any sort of proposal, or making proposals, is no more than a tiresome game for self-important people.
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 -
Don’t you find it a beautiful clean thought, a world empty of people, just uninterrupted grass, and a hare sitting up?
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Now go away then, and leave me alone. I don’t want any more of your meretricious persiflage.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
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–
D. H. LAWRENCE -
She thought she loved, she thought she was full of love.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
That’s the place to get to – nowhere. One wants to wander away from the world’s somewheres, into our own nowhere.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Give up bearing children and bear hope and love and devotion to those already born.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
I love trying things and discovering how I hate them.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
It’s not art for art’s sake, it’s art for my sake.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
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