And all the sky was teeming and tearing along, a vast disorder of flying shapes and darkness and ragged fumes of light and a great brown circling halo, then the terror of a moon running liquid-brilliant into the open for a moment, hurting the eyes before she plunged under cover of cloud again.
D.H. LawrenceBut she would wake in the morning one day and feel her blood running, feel herself lying open like a flower unsheathed in the sun, insistent and potent with demand.
D.H. Lawrenceسألت أختها " ألا تجدين نفسكِ تغوصين في الضجر؟ ألا تجدين أن الأشياء تعجز عن أن تتجسد، أن كل شيء يذوي في البرعم "
سألت أورسولا " ما الذي يذوي في البرعم؟ "
" أوه، كل شيء - ذات المرء - الأشياء بشكل عام
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. LawrenceStichwörter: banned-books
Democracy in America was never the same as Liberty in Europe. In Europe Liberty was a great life-throb. But in America Democracy was always something anti-life. The greatest democrats, like Abraham Lincoln, had always a sacrificial, self-murdering note in their voices. American Democracy was a form of self-murder, always. Or of murdering somebody else... The love, the democracy, the floundering into lust, is a sort of by-play. The essential American soul is hard, isolate, stoic, and a killer. It has never yet melted.
D.H. LawrenceThere was nothing now but this empty treadmill of what Clifford called the integrated life, the long living together of two people, who are in the habit of being in the same house with one another.
Nothingness! To accept the great nothingness of life seemed to be the one end of living. All the many busy and important little things that make up the grand sum-total of nothingness!
Meanwhile you just lived on and there was nothing to it. She understood perfectly well why people had cocktail parties, and jazzed, and Charlestoned till they were ready to drop. You had to take it out some way or other, your youth, or it ate you up. But what a ghastly thing, this youth! You felt as old as Methuselah, and yet the thing fizzed somehow, and didn't let you be comfortable. A mean sort of life! And no prospect! She almost wished she had gone off with Mick, and made her life one long cocktail party, and jazz evening. Anyhow that was better than just mooning yourself into the grave.
D.H. LawrenceIn the inner dark she saw a handsome bay horse with his clean ears
pricked like daggers from his naked head as he swung handsomely round
to stare at the open doorway. He had big, black, brilliant eyes, with a
sharp questioning glint, and that air of tense, alert quietness which betrays
an animal that can be dangerous... He was of such a lovely red-gold
colour, and a dark, invisible fire seemed to come out of him .. .
She looked at the glowing bay horse, that stood there with his ears back,
his face averted, but attending as if he were some lightning conductor. He
was a stallion . ..
Dimly, in her weary young-woman's soul, an ancient understanding
seemed to flood in . . . For some reason the sight of him, his power, his alive,
alert intensity, his unyieldingness, made her want to cry. She never did
cry ... But now, as if that mysterious fire of the horse's body had split some
rock in her, she went home and hid herself in her room, and just cried. The
wild, brilliant, alert head of St Mawr seemed to look at her out of another
world. It was as if she had had a vision, as if the walls of her own world had
suddenly melted away, leaving her in a great darkness, in the midst of which
the large, brilliant eyes of that horse looked at her with demonish question,
while his naked ears stood up like daggers from the naked lines of his
inhuman head, and his great body glowed red with power.
What was it? Almost like a god looking at her terribly out of the
everlasting dark, she had felt the eyes of that horse; great, glowing,
fearsome eyes, arched with a question, and containing a white blade of
light like a threat. What was his non-human question, and his uncanny
threat? She didn't know. He was some splendid demon, and she must
worship him. (St Mawr)
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. LawrenceStichwörter: sex poets sentiment desire d-h-lawrence lady-chatterley-s-lover
Los hombres y las mujeres deberían saber que no es posible unirse totalmente en este mundo. En el beso más íntimo, en la caricia más tierna existe un foso, por estrecho que sea. Y frente a él deben inclinarse y someterse con respeto. [...] Él es él y ella es ella y esa distancia nunca se salvará.
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