Vitally, the human race is dying. It is like a great uprooted tree, with its roots in the air. We must plant ourselves again in the universe.
D. H. LAWRENCEI am part of the sun as my eye is of me. That I am part of the earth my feet know perfectly, and my blood is part of the sea.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
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If I were the moon, I know where I would fall down.
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 -
He worked very hard, till nothing lived in him but his eyes.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
You’re spending your life without renewing it. You’ve got to be amused, properly healthily amused. You’re spending your vitality without making any. Can’t go on you know. Depression! Avoid depression!
D. H. LAWRENCE -
A little morphine in all the air. It would be wonderfully refreshing for everyone.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
Now go away then, and leave me alone. I don’t want any more of your meretricious persiflage.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
The dead don’t die. They look on and help.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
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.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
The human being is a most curious creature. He thinks he has got one soul, and he has got dozens.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
The essential American soul is hard, isolate, stoic, and a killer. It has never yet melted.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
You love me so much, you want to put me in your pocket. And there I will die smothered.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
It’s not art for art’s sake, it’s art for my sake.
D. H. LAWRENCE -
What liars poets and everybody were! They made one think one wanted sentiment. When what one supremely wanted was this piercing, consuming, rather awful sensuality.
D. H. LAWRENCE