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. LAWRENCEOne 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.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
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Recklessness is almost a man’s revenge on his woman.
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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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Never trust the teller, trust the tale. The proper function of a critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it.
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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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Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved.
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For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.
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But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions.
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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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I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets.
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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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If you could only tell them that living and spending isn’t the same thing! But it’s no good. If only they were educated to live instead of earn and spend, they could manage very happily.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
I can never decide whether my dreams are the result of my thoughts or my thoughts the result of my dreams.
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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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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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And besides, look at elder flowers and bluebells-they are a sign that pure creation takes place – even the butterfly.
D. H. LAWRENCE