If a woman hasn't got a tiny streak of harlot in her, she's a dry stick as a rule.
D.H. LawrenceI should feel the air move against me, and feel the things I touched, instead of having only to look at them. I'm sure life is all wrong because it has become much too visual - we can neither hear nor feel nor understand, we can only see. I'm sure that is entirely wrong.
D.H. LawrenceTags: life
Things men have made with wakened hands, and put soft life into
are awake through years with transferred touch, and go on glowing
for long years.
And for this reason, some old things are lovely
warm still with the life of forgotten men who made them.
As we all know, too much of any divine thing is destruction
D.H. LawrenceA woman unsatisfied must have luxuries. But a woman who loves a man would sleep on a board
D.H. LawrenceThis is the very worst wickedness, that we refuse to acknowledge the passionate evil that is in us.
D.H. LawrenceIt's no good trying to get rid of your own aloneness. You've got to stick to it all your life. Only at times, at times, the gap will be filled in. At times! But you have to wait for the times. Accept your own aloneness and stick to it, all your life. And then accept the times when the gap is filled in, when they come. But they've got to come. You can't force them.
D.H. LawrenceTags: life philosophy loneliness
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. LawrenceLife is ours to be spent, not to
be saved.
Tags: life inspirational
A dozen or more boats on the lake swung their rosy and moon–like lanterns low on the water, that reflected as from a fire. In the distance, the steamer twanged and thrummed and washed with her faintly–splashing paddles, trailing her strings of coloured lights, and occasionally lighting up the whole scene luridly with an effusion of fireworks, Roman candles and sheafs of stars and other simple effects, illuminating the surface of the water, and showing the boats creeping round, low down. Then the lovely darkness fell again, the lanterns and the little threaded lights glimmered softly, there was a muffled knocking of oars and a waving of music.
Gudrun paddled almost imperceptibly. Gerald could see, not far ahead, the rich blue and the rose globes of Ursula’s lanterns swaying softly cheek to cheek as Birkin rowed, and iridescent, evanescent gleams chasing in the wake. He was aware, too, of his own delicately coloured lights casting their softness behind him.
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