D. H. Lawrence

And what's romance? Usually, a nice little tale where you have everything As You Like It, where rain never wets read more

And what's romance? Usually, a nice little tale where you have everything As You Like It, where rain never wets your jacket and gnats never bite your nose and it's always daisy-time.

We don't exist unless we are deeply and sensually in touch with that which can be touched but not known.

We don't exist unless we are deeply and sensually in touch with that which can be touched but not known.

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.

You'll never succeed in idealizing hard work. Before you can dig mother earth you've got to take off your ideal read more

You'll never succeed in idealizing hard work. Before you can dig mother earth you've got to take off your ideal jacket. The harder a man works, at brute labor, the thinner becomes his idealism, the darker his mind.