D. H. Lawrence

It was cold, and he was coughing. A fine cold draught blew over the knoll. He thought of the woman. read more

It was cold, and he was coughing. A fine cold draught blew over the knoll. He thought of the woman. Now he would have given all he had or ever might have to hold her warm in his arms, both of them wrapped in one blanket, and sleep. All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity.

Never trust the teller. Trust the tale.

Never trust the teller. Trust the tale.

But then peace, peace! I am so mistrustful of it: so much afraid that it means a sort of weakness read more

But then peace, peace! I am so mistrustful of it: so much afraid that it means a sort of weakness and giving in.

It is a fine thing to establish one's own religion in one's heart, not to be dependent on tradition and read more

It is a fine thing to establish one's own religion in one's heart, not to be dependent on tradition and second-hand ideals. Life will seem to you, later, not a lesser, but a greater thing.

Reason is a supple nymph, and slippery as a fish by nature. She had as leave give her kiss to read more

Reason is a supple nymph, and slippery as a fish by nature. She had as leave give her kiss to an absurdity any day, as to syllogistic truth. The absurdity may turn out truer.