Never was an age more sentimental, more devoid of real feeling, more exaggerated in false feeling, than our own.
D. H. LAWRENCEShe was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.
More D. H. Lawrence Quotes
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I don’t want the corpses of flowers about me.
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We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
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One 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.
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Their words were only accidents in the mutual silence.
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But humanity never gets beyond the caterpillar stage -it rots in the chrysalis, it never will have wings.It is anti-creation, like monkeys and baboons.
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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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If a woman hasn’t got a tiny streak of harlot in her, she’s a dry stick as a rule.
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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!
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A little morphine in all the air. It would be wonderfully refreshing for everyone.
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I fear my enthusiasm flags when real work is demanded of me.
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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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If only there weren’t so many other people in the world,’ he said lugubriously.
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I 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.
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But the act, called the sexual act, is not for the depositing of seed. It is for leaping off into the unknown, as from a cliff’s edge, like Sappho into the sea.
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But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions.
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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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Recklessness is almost a man’s revenge on his woman.
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She thought she loved, she thought she was full of love.
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Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved.
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She was always waiting, it seemed to be her forte.
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There is nothing to save, now all is lost, but a tiny core of stillness in the heart like the eye of a violet.
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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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Mankind has got to get back to the rhythm of the cosmos.
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How she loved to listen when he thought only the horse could hear.
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Nobody knows you. You don’t know yourself. And I, who am half in love with you, What am I in love with? My own imaginings?
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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