I want to go south, where there is no autumn, where the cold doesn't crouch over one like a snow leopard waiting to pounce.
D.H. LAWRENCE, letter to John Middleton Murry, Oct. 3, 1924
- A small bird will drop frozen dead
- From a bough
- Without ever having felt sorry for itself.
I love Italian opera -- it’s so reckless. Damn Wagner, and his bellowings at Fate and death. Damn Debussy, and his averted face. I like the Italians who run all on impulse, and don’t care about their immortal souls, and don’t worry about the ultimate.
D.H. LAWRENCE, letter, Apr. 1, 1911
Don’t be on the side of the angels, it’s too lowering.
D.H. LAWRENCE, letter to Rolf Gardiner, Dec. 18, 1927
We can understand that the Fathers of the Church in the East wanted Apocalypse left out of the New Testament. But like Judas among the disciples, it was inevitable that it should be included. The Apocalypse is the feet of clay to the grand Christian image. And down crashes the image, on the weakness of these very feet. There is Jesus--but there is also John the Divine. There is Christian love--and there is Christian envy. The former would "save" the world--the latter will never be satisfied till it has destroyed the world. They are two sides of the same medal.
D.H. LAWRENCE, Apocalypse and the Writings on Revelation
If you cut a thing up, of course it will smell. Hence, nothing raises such an infernal stink at last, as human psychology.
- Sanity means the wholeness of the consciousness.
- And our society is only part conscious, like an idiot.
- Where sanity is
- there God is.
- If we lose our sanity ...
- We can but howl the lugubrious howl of idiots,
- the howl of the utterly lost
- howling their nowhereness.
From the unknown, profound desires enter in upon us, and ... the fulfilling of those desires is the fulfilling of creation.
Sacred love is selfless, seeking not its own. The lover serves his beloved and seeks perfect communion of oneness with her.
Love is the hastening gravitation of spirit towards spirit, and body towards body, in the joy of creation.
Death is ... a travelling asunder into elemental chaos. And from the elemental chaos all is cast forth again into creation. Therefore death also is but a cul-de-sac, a melting-pot.
Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.
|
