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Once you abstract from this, once you generalize and postulate Universals, you have departed from the creative reality, and entered the realm of static fixity, mechanism, materialism.

D. H. Lawrence

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D. H. Lawrence
Age: 45 †
Born: 1885
Born: January 1
Died: 1930
Died: January 1
Literary Critic
Novelist
Painter
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Translator
Writer
Eastwood
Nottinghamshire
David Herbert Lawrence
Lawrence H. Davison
D.H. Lawrence
D. H. Lorenss
D. G. Lourens
David Herbert Richards Lawrence
D. H. David Herbert Lawrence
Reality
Static
Entered
Materialism
Realm
Fixity
Mechanism
Universals
Realms
Postulate
Abstract
Generalize
Creative
Departed

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There is a brief time for sex, and a long time when sex is out of place. But when it is out of place as an activity there still should be the large and quiet space in the consciousness where it lives quiescent. Old people can have a lovely quiescent sort of sex, like apples, leaving the young quite free for their sort.
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We are so conceited and so unproud.
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In America the chief accusation seems to be one of Eroticism. This is odd, rather puzzling to my mind. Which Eros? Eros of the jaunty amours, or Eros of the sacred mysteries? And if the latter, why accuse, why not respect, even venerate?
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Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved. The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing.
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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.
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The reaction to any word may be, in an individual, either a mob-reaction or an individual reaction. It is up to the individual to ask himself: Is my reaction individual, or am I merely reacting from my mob-self? When it comes to the so-called obscene words, I should say that hardly one person in a million escapes mob-reaction.
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I am turned into a dream. I feel nothing, or I don't know what I feel. Yet it seems to me I am happy.
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She herself had never been able to be altogether herself: it had been denied her.
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Sing then the core of dark and absolute oblivion where the soul at last is lost in utter peace.
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That was the birth of sin. Not doing it, but KNOWING about it. Before the apple, [Adam and Eve] had shut their eyes and their minds had gone dark. Now, they peeped and pried and imagined. They watched themselves.
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What the eye doesn't see and the mind doesn't know, doesn't exist.
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In every great novel, who is the hero all the time? Not any of the characters, but some unnamed and nameless flame behind them all.
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Money is the seal and stamp of success.
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Give up bearing children and bear hope and love and devotion to those already born.
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Sex is just another form of talk, where you act the words instead of saying them.
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She looked at him, and oh, the weariness to her, of the effort to understand another language, the weariness of hearing him, attending to him, making out who he was, as he stood there fair-bearded and alien, looking at her. She knew something of him, of his eyes. But she could not grasp him. She closed her eyes.
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I have a very great fear of love. It is so personal. Let each bird fly with its own wings, and each fish swim its own course.--Morning brings more than love. And I want to be true to the morning.
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The world is wonderful and beautiful and good beyond one's wildest imagination.
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A man was like a child with his appetites. A woman had to yield him what he wanted, or like a child he would probably turn nasty and flounce away and spoil what was a very pleasant connection.
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The Brangwens had lived for generations on the Marsh Farm, in the meadows where the Erewash twisted sluggishly through alder trees, separating Derbyshire from Nottinghamshire.
D. H. Lawrence