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So slowly the hot elephant hearts grow full of desire, and the great beasts mate in secret at last, hiding their fire.

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
Last
Hot
Elephant
Desire
Hearts
Beasts
Great
Grow
Mate
Heart
Full
Elephants
Fire
Mates
Grows
Hiding
Secret
Beast
Lasts
Slowly

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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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Every profound new movement makes a great swing also backwards to some older, half-forgotten way of consciousness.
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They wanted genuine intimacy, but they could not get even normally near to anyone, because they scorned to take the first steps, they scorned the triviality which forms common human intercourse.
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The novel is the highest example of subtle interrelatedness that man has discovered.
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The more I see of democracy the more I dislike it. It just brings everything down to the mere vulgar level of wages and prices, electric light and water closets, and nothing else.
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The human being is a most curious creature. He thinks he has got one soul, and he has got dozens.
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Homer was wrong in saying, Would that strife might pass away from among gods and men! He did not see that he was praying for the destruction of the universe.
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Money is the seal and stamp of success.
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It's bad taste to be wise all the time, like being at a perpetual funeral.
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Another head - and a black alpaca jacket and a serviette this time - to tell us coffee is ready. Not before it is time, too.
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And it seems to me a blasphemy to say that the Holy Spirit is Love. In the Old Testament it is an Eagle: in the New it is a Dove.Christ insists on the Dove: but in His supreme moments He includes the Eagle.
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For whereas the mind works in possibilities, the intuitions work in actualities, and what you intuitively desire, that is possible to you. Whereas what you mentally or consciously desire is nine times out of ten impossible hitch your wagon to a star, or you will just stay where you are.
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The trains roared by like projectiles level on the darkness, fuming and burning, making the valley clang with their passage. They were gone, and the lights of the towns and villages glittered in silence.
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Only the flow matters live and let live, love and let love. There is no point in love.
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That is your trick, your bit of filthy magic: invisibility, and the anaesthetic power to deaden my attention in your direction.
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I wonder which was more frightened among old tribes -- those bursting out of their darkness of woods upon all the space of light, or those from the open tiptoeing into the forests.
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Now it is autumn and the falling fruit and the long journey towards oblivion. The apples falling like great drops of dew to bruise themselves an exit from themselves.
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Whatever men you take, keep the idea of man intact: let your soul wait whether your body does or not.
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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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The novel is the one bright book of life. Books are not life. They are only tremulations on the ether. But the novel as a tremulation can make the whole man alive tremble.
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