The true artist doesn't substitute immorality for morality. On the contrary, he always substitutes a finer morality for a grosser. And as… — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
Literary criticism can be no more than a reasoned account of the feeling produced upon the critic by the book he is… — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
Art-speech is the only truth. An artist is usually a damned liar, but his art, if it be art, will tell you… — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
And down his mouth comes to my mouth! and down His bright dark eyes come over me, like a hood Upon my mind! his… — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
The true artist doesn't substitute immorality for morality. On the contrary, he always substitutes a finer morality for a grosser. And as soon as… — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
It ought to be lovely to be old, To be full of the peace that comes with experience And wrinkled ripe fulfillment — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
“The young man, perched insecurely in the slender branches, rocked till he felt slightly drunk, reached down the boughs, where the scarlet beady cherries… — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
One sheds one's sicknesses in books--repeats and presents again one's emotions, to be master of them.One sheds one's sicknesses in books--repeats and presents again… — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
All people dream, but no equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind, wake in the morning to find… — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
The chief thing about a woman -- who is much of a woman -- is that in the long run she is not to… — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
Temperance: Eat and carouse with Bacchus, or munch dry bread with Jesus, but don't sit down without one of the gods. — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
“Any woman who doesn't have a little bit of whore in her is pretty much a dried up stick.” — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
“In the inner dark she saw a handsome bay horse with his clean ears pricked like daggers from his naked head as he swung… — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
It was cold, and he was coughing. A fine cold draught blew over the knoll. He thought of the woman. Now he would have… — DH Lawrence Copy Share Image
