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Along the avenue of cypresses, All in their scarlet cloaks and surplices Of linen, go the chanting choristers, The priests in gold and black, the villagers. . . .

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
Avenue
Avenues
Priests
Villagers
Gold
Cypresses
Along
Linen
Black
Chanting
Cloaks
Scarlet

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The only history is a mere question of one's struggle inside oneself. But that is the joy of it. One need neither discover Americas nor conquer nations, and yet one has as great a work as Columbus or Alexander, to do.
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I am part of the sun as my eye is part of me. That I am part of the earth my feet know perfectly, and my blood is part of the sea. My soul knows that I am part of the human race, my soul is an organic part of the great human race, as my spirit is part of my nation. In my own very self, I am part of my family.
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A snake came to my water trough On a hot, hot day, and I in pajamas for the heat, To drink there.
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The pyramids of Egypt will not last a moment compared to the daisy.
D. H. Lawrence
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The words themselves are clean, so are the things to which they apply. But the mind drags in a filthy association, calls up some repulsive emotion. Well, then, cleanse the mind, that is the real job. It is the mind which is the Augean stables, not language.
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Persephone herself is but a voice or a darkness invisible enfolded in the deeper dark of the arms Plutonic, and pierced with the passion of dense gloom, among the splendor of torches of darkness, shedding darkness on the lost bride and her groom.
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Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite, exquisite and melting her all molten inside.
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Good God, what does it matter? If life is a tragedy, or a farce, or a disaster, or anything else, what do I care! Let life be what it likes. Give me a drink, that's what I want just now.
D. H. Lawrence
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Not that the Red Indian will ever possess the broad lands of America. At least I presume not. But his ghost will.
D. H. Lawrence
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If we lose our sanity ... We can but howl the lugubrious howl of idiots, the howl of the utterly lost howling their nowhereness.
D. H. Lawrence
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Money is the seal and stamp of success.
D. H. Lawrence
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I cannot cure myself of that most woeful of youth's follies - thinking that those who care about us will care for the things that mean much to us.
D. H. Lawrence
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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.
D. H. Lawrence
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At a wavering instant the swallows gave way to bats By the Ponte Vecchio . . . Changing guard.
D. H. Lawrence
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Evil, what is evil? There is only one evil, to deny life As Rome denied Etruria And mechanical America Montezuma still
D. H. Lawrence
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But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions.
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Vitally, the human race is dying. It is like a great uprooted tree, with its roots in the air. We must plant ourselves again in the universe.
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Men! The only animal in the world to fear.
D. H. Lawrence
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There is no evolving, only unfolding. The lily is in the bit of dust which is its beginning, lily and nothing but lily: and the lily in blossom is a ne plus ultra: there is no evolving beyond.
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How ravished one could be without ever being touched. Ravished by dead words become obscene and dead ideas become obsessions.
D. H. Lawrence