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Quote by DH Lawrence

“Creation destroys as it goes, throws down one tree for the rise of another. But ideal mankind would abolish death, multiply itself million upon million, rear up city upon city, save every parasite alive, until the accumulation of mere existence is swollen to a horror. But go on saving life, the ghastly salvation army of ideal mankind. At the same time secretly, viciously, potently undermine the natural creation, betray it with kiss after kiss, destroy it from the inside, till you have the swollen rottenness of our teeming existences.”

Quote by DH Lawrence

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DH Lawrence

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“Old!" she said to herself. "I am not old! I have lived many years, that is all. But I am as timeless as an hour-glass that turns morning and night, and spills the hours of sleep one way, the hours of consciousness the other way, without itself being affected. Nothing in all my life has ever truly affected me.--I believe Cleopatra only tried the asp, as she tried her pearls in wine, to see if it would really, really have any effect on her. Nothing had ever really had any effect on her, neither Caesar nor Antony nor any of them. Never once had she really been lost, lost to herself. Then try death, see if that trick would work. If she would lose herself to herself that way.--Ah, death--!" But Mrs. Witt mistrusted death too. She felt she might pass out as a bed of asters passes out in autumn, to mere nothingness.--And something in her longed to die, at least, positively: to be folded then at last into throbbing wings of mystery, like, a hawk that goes to sleep. Not like a thing made into a parcel and put into the last rubbish-heap.”

St Mawr
Author:DH Lawrence
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“And her love for her ranch turned sometimes into a certain repulsion. The underlying rat-dirt, the everlasting bristling tussle of the wild life, with the tangle and the bones strewing: Bones of horses struck by lightning, bones of dead cattle, skulls of goats with little horns: bleached, unburied bones. Then the cruel electricity of the mountains. And then, most mysterious but worst of all, the animosity of the spirit of place: the crude, half-created spirit of place, like some serpent-bird for ever attacking man, in a hatred of man's onward struggle towards further creation. The seething cauldron of lower life, seething on the very tissue of the higher life, seething the soul away, seething at the marrow. The vast and unrelenting will of the swarming lower life, working forever against man's attempt at a higher life, a further created being.”

St Mawr
Author:DH Lawrence
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“Every new stroke of civilisation has cost the lives of countless brave men, who have fallen defeated by the 'dragon', in their efforts to win the apples of the Hesperides, or the fleece of gold. Fallen in their efforts to overcome the old, half-sordid savagery of the lower stages of creation, and win to the next stage. For all savagery is half sordid. And man is only himself when he is fighting on and on, to overcome the sordidness. And every civilisation, when it loses its inward vision and its cleaner energy, falls into a new sort of sordidness, more vast and more stupendous than the old savage sort. An Augean stable of metallic filth. And all the time, man has to rouse himself afresh to cleanse the new accumulations of refuse. To win from the crude, wild nature the victory and the power to make another start, and to cleanse behind him the century-deep deposits of layer upon layer of refuse: even of tin cans.”

St Mawr
Author:DH Lawrence
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“Cu o strângere de inimă, fiecare își privea casa și trecea mai departe: . Iar peste sufletele oamenilor se rostogolea și un val de indiferență: >. Cine se gândea la suferințele patriei? Nu ei, nu cei care pleacă în această seară. Panica anula tot ce nu era instinct, freamăt animalic al trupului. Să iei ce aveai mai prețios pe lume și pe urmă... Și numai ce trăia, ce respira, plânge, iubea avea valoare în noaptea aceea! Puțini erau cei care își regretau bogățiile. Strângeai în brațe o femeie sau un copil, restul nu mai conta; restul putea să dispară în flăcări.”

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“Dar porțile de fier din toate gările erau deja zăvorâte și păzite de soldați. Mulțimea se agăța de bare, le zgâlțâia, apoi se retrăgea în dezordine pe străzile vecine. Femeile fugeau plângând, cu copiii în brațe. Erau oprite ultimele taxiuri. Li se ofereau două, trei mii de franci ca să părăsească Parisul. Dar șoferii refuzau, nu mai aveau benzină.”

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“Dar nu putură să intre în curtea mare încuiată, zăvorâtă, apărată de soldați și de mulțimea presată, strivită de bare. Rămăsaseră acolo până seara, luptându-se zadarnic. În jurul lor, oamenii ziceau: -Asta e! Plecăm pe jos. Rosteau cuvintele astea cu un fel de stupoare deznădăjduită. Se vedea bine că nici ei nu credeau. Se uitau în jur și așteptau minunea: o mașină, un camion, orice i-ar fi dus de acolo. Dar nu apărea nimic. Atunci plecau spre porțile Parisului, ieșeau, își târau bagajele după ei în praf, mergeau, ajungeau în suburbii, apoi la țară și-și ziceau: . Soții Michaud plecaseră și ei tot pe jos. Era o noapte caldă de iunie. În fața lor, o femeie în negru care purta strâmb pe cap, peste părul alb, pălăria cu doliu, se poticnea pe pietrele de pe drum și mormăia, cu gesturi de nebună: -Rugați-vă ca fuga noastră să n-aibă loc iarna... Rugați-vă!... Rugați-vă!”

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