Quotes from D.H. Lawrence

There was no Time, only Space. Who could say his mother had lived and did not live? She had been in one place, and was in another, that was all. And his soul could not leave her, wherever she was. Now she was gone abroad into the night, and he was with her still. They were together.

One realises, with horror, that the race of men is almost extinct in Europe. Only Christ-like heroes and woman-worshipping Don Juans, and rabid equality-mongrels. The old, hardy, indomitable male is gone. His fierce singleness is quenched. The last sparks are dying out in Sardinia and Spain. Nothing left but the herd-proletariat and the herd-equality mongrelism, and the wistful poisonous self-sacrificial cultured soul. How detestable

In front of the house was a huge old ash-tree. The west wind, sweeping from Derbyshire, caught the houses with full force, and the tree shrieked again. Morel liked it. It's music, he said. It sends me to sleep. But Paul and Arthur and Annie hated it. To Paul, it became an almost demonical noise.

Cualquier ser capaz de demostrar valor no puede ser vil.

I believe in being warm-hearted. I believe especially in being warm-hearted in love, in fucking with a warm heart. I believe if men could fuck with warm hearts, and the women take it warm-heartedly, everything would come all right.

If we sip the wine, we find dreams coming upon us out of the imminent night.

Are you always like this? he asked. Loathing the very flesh on your bones, and the words of your mouth? It's only the unnatural things, she replied. When things natural they are beautiful. And what isn't natural? he asked. Everything man had made, she answered, including himself.

She did not mind if he observed her hands. She intended to scorn him. Her heavy arm lay negligently on the table. Her mouth was closed as if she were offended, and she kept her face slightly averted.

The children lay silent in suspense, waiting for a lull in the wind to hear what their father was doing. He might hit their mother again... And then, came the horror of the sudden silence: silence everywhere, outside, and downstairs. What was it?- was it a silence of blood? What had he done.

He was filled with the warmth of her. In the glow, he could almost feel her as if she were present.

We've got this great industrial population, and they've got to be fed, so the damn show has to be kept going somehow.

He could not leave her, because in one way she did hold the best of him. He could not stay with her because she did not take the rest of him, which was three-quarters. So he chafed himself into rawness over her.

A nice row there'd be in heaven if Aldebaran caught Sirius by the tail and said, Look here, you're not to look so green, you damm dog-star! It's an offense against star-regulations.

could feel the male in him, something cold and triumphant

Yet still in his face one saw the watchful look, the slight vacancy of a cripple. He had so very nearly lost his life, that what remained was wonderfully precious to him. It was obvious in the anxious brightness of his eyes, how proud he was, after the great shock, of being alive. But he had been so much hurt that something inside him had perished, some of his feelings had gone. There was a blank of insentience.

All human beings are vines. But especially the idealist. He is a vine, and he needs to clutch and climb. And he despises the man who is a mere potato, or turnip, or lump of wood.

My known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest.

It is so still and transcendent, the cypress trees poise like flames of forgotten darkness, that should have been blown out at the end of the summer. For as we have candles to light the darkness of night, so the cypresses are candles to keep the darkness aflame in the full sunshine.

The vast bulk of men are not pure individuals, and never will be, for the pure individual is a rarity, almost a kind of freak. The vast bulk of men need to belong to a self-governing group, a tribe, a nation, an empire. It is a necessity like the necessity to eat food.

She felt like fastening little labels on the furniture: Lady Louise Carrington Lounge Chair, Last used August 1923. Not for the benefit of posterity: but to remove her own self into another world, another realm of existence.

He looked in humiliation, anger, wariness and misery at Connie. "Ma lass!" he said. "The world's goin' to put salt on thy tail." "Not if we don't let it," she said.

Ho perso la mia anima, e non posso smettere di parlare con lei. Non posso. Ma non parlo con nessun altro. Mi sforzo di non parlare, ma non posso trattenermi. È lei che mi tira fuori le parole?

So he smiled to himself, for a dangerous phenomenon in the world is a man of narrow belief, who denies the right of his neighbour to be alone.

And he asked himself a last question: From what, and to what, could this infinite whirl be saved?