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Never was an age more sentimental, more devoid of real feeling, more exaggerated in false feeling, than our own.

D. H. Lawrence

How she hated words, always coming between her and her life: they did the ravishing, if anything did: ready-made words and phrases, sucking all the live-sap out of living things.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Hate Herself Live Word
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.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Act Sea Sex
One could laugh at the world better if it didn’t mix tender kindliness with its brutality.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Kind Laugh Oneself War World
Be sure your sins will find you out, especially if you’re married and her name’s Bertha.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Marriage Sin Yourself
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

Game Important Old People
All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Forever Himself Hope Necessary Past Woman
Never was an age more sentimental, more devoid of real feeling, more exaggerated in false feeling, than our own.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Age Feeling Ourselves Reality
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

Feeling Goodness Heart Himself Live Lost Misery
One sheds ones sickness in books- repeats and presents again ones emotions, to be master of them.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Book Emotion Present Sick
I love trying things and discovering how I hate them.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Discover Hate Love Myself
I fear my enthusiasm flags when real work is demanded of me.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Fear Myself Reality
I don’t want the corpses of flowers about me.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Death Flower Myself
Never trust the teller, trust the tale. The proper function of a critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Creation Story Trust
If a woman hasn’t got a tiny streak of harlot in her, she’s a dry stick as a rule.
D. H. LAWRENCE

Herself Woman
As we all know, too much of any divine thing is destruction
D. H. LAWRENCE

Deep Destruction Divine
We fucked a flame into being.
D. H. LAWRENCE

One Liner Reality Sex

Never was an age more sentimental, more devoid of real feeling, more exaggerated in false feeling, than our own.

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Never was an age more sentimental, more devoid of real feeling, more exaggerated in false feeling, than our own.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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