…no form of love is wrong, so long as it is love, and you yourself honour what you are doing. Love has an extraordinary variety of forms! And that is all there is in life, it seems to me. But I grant you, if you deny the variety of love you deny love altogether. If… Continue reading D.H. Lawrence
Sleep seems to hammer out for me the logical conclusions of my vague days, and offer them to me as dreams. ― D.H. Lawrence
Love has crept into her sealed heart As a field bee, black and amber, Breaks into the winter-cell, to clamber Up the warm grass where the sunbeams start. — D. H. Lawrence, from “Song (“Love has crept…”),” Poetry (December 1914)
I should feel the air move against me, and feel the things I touched, instead of having only to look at them. I’m sure life is all wrong because it has become much too visual – we can neither hear nor feel nor understand, we can only see. I’m sure that is entirely wrong. —… Continue reading D. H. Lawrence
Go deeper than love, for the soul has greater depth, love is like the grass, but the heart is deep wild rock molten, yet dense and permanent. Go down to your deep old heart, and lose sight of yourself. And lose sight of me, the me whom you turbulently loved. Let us lose sight of… Continue reading D.H. Lawrence
What is sleep? It goes over me, like a shadow over a hill, but it does not alter me, nor help me. And death would ache still, I am sure; it would be lambent, uneasy. I wish it would be completely dark everywhere, inside me, and out, heavily dark utterly. —D. H. Lawrence, from “And… Continue reading D. H. Lawrence
Your breasts, your knees and feet! I feel that we Are a bonfire of oneness, me flame flung leaping round you, You the core of the fire, crept into me. —D.H. Lawrence, from “Wedlock,” The Complete Poems of D. H. Lawrence. (Wordsworth Editions Ltd; New edition edition September 5, 1994) Originally published 1964.