You know, he said, with an effort, 'if one person loves, the other does.'…'I hope so, because if it were not, love might be a very terrible thing,' she said.'Yes, but it is - at least with most people...
What one does in one's art, that is the breath of one's being. What one does in one's life, that is a bagatelle for the outsiders to fuss about.
Owing to the flood of shallow books which really are exhausted in one reading, the modern mind tends to think every book is the same, finished in one reading. But it is not so. And gradually the moder...
How she loved to listen when he thought only the horse could hear.
He worked very hard, till nothing lived in him but his eyes.
From the old wood came an ancient melancholy, somehow soothing to her, better than the harsh insentience of the outer world. She liked the inwardness of the remnant of forest, the unspeaking reticence...
A woman cannot bear to feel empty and purposeless. But a man may take real pleasure in that feeling. A man can take real pride and satisfaction in pure negation: 'I am quite empty of feeling. I don't...
When one is grown up, money is lying about at one's service. It is only when one is young that it is rare. Take no thought for money - that always lies to hand.(Women in Love)
One sheds ones sickness in books- repeats and presents again ones emotions, to be master of them.
The more i live, the more i realize what strange creatures human beings are. some of them might just as well have a hundred legs, like a centipede, or six, like a lobster. the human consistency and di...
Why, oh why must one grow up, why must one inherit this heavy, numbing responsibility of living an undiscovered life? Out of the nothingness and the undifferentiated mass, to make something of herself...
When I hear modern people complain of being lonely then I know what has happened. They have lost the cosmos.
Whatever life may be, and whatever horror men have made of it, the world is a lovely place, a magic place, something to marvel over. The world is an amazing place.
The optimist builds himself safe inside a celland paints the inside walls sky-blue
Nobody knows you.You don't know yourself.And I, who am half in love with you,What am I in love with?My own imaginings?
Man is a mistake. He must go.
Sleep seems to hammer out for me the logical conclusions of my vague days, and offer them to me as dreams.
Of course , if I am nothing but an ego, and woman is nothing but another ego, then there is really no vital difference between us. Two little dolls of conscious entities, squeaking when you squeeze th...
The profoundest of all sensualitiesis the sense of truthand the next deepest sensual experienceis the sense of justice.
Vitally, the human race is dying. It is like a great uprooted tree, with its roots in the air. We must plant ourselves again in the universe.