What the eye doesn’t see and the mind doesn’t know, doesn’t exist.
D. H. LAWRENCEShe 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.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
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If only there weren’t so many other people in the world,’ he said lugubriously.
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I like to write when I feel spiteful. It is like having a good sneeze.
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The novel is the one bright book of life. Books are not life. They are only tremulations on the ether. But the novel as a tremulation can make the whole man alive tremble.
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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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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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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.
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We fucked a flame into being.
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I fear my enthusiasm flags when real work is demanded of me.
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We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
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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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You love me so much, you want to put me in your pocket. And there I will die smothered.
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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.
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I would rather sit still in a state of peace on a stone than ride in the motor-car of a multi-millionaire and feel the peacelessness of the multi-millionaire poisoning me.
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Used to all kinds of society, she watched people as one reads the pages of a novel, with a certain disinterested amusement.
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Their words were only accidents in the mutual silence.
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Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.
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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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She would have thought a woman would have died of shame. Instead of which, the shame died.
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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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A woman unsatisfied must have luxuries. But a woman who loves a man would sleep on a board
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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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That’s how women are with me said Paul. They want me like mad but they don’t want to belong to me.
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Every true artist is the salvation of every other. Only artists produce for each other a world that is fit to live in.
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She was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.
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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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Perhaps only people who are capable of real togetherness have that look of being alone in the universe. The others have a certain stickiness, they stick to the mass.
D. H. LAWRENCE