49 Total Quotes

David Lawrence Quotes

And if tonight my soul may find her peace in sleep, and sink in good oblivion, and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower then I have been dipped again in God, and new-created.
David Lawrence
#Sleep

Loud peace propaganda makes war seem imminent.
David Lawrence
#English Writer

This is a tossup. It is a matter of interpreting the statute because there is no definition of levy in law.
David Lawrence
#Definition

People have used models to study permafrost before, but not within a fully interactive climate system model.
David Lawrence
#Climate

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.
David Lawrence
#English Writer

The mosquito knows full well that he is small, he is a beast of prey.
David Lawrence
#Beast

I like to write when I feel spiteful. It is like having a good sneeze.
David Lawrence
#Writers And Writing

The understanding of that is you take the number of members of the council, and you have your number.
David Lawrence
#Council

If the permafrost does thaw, as our model predicts, it could have a major influence on climate.
David Lawrence
#Climate

I suppose it's a matter of educating citizens so they can point out errors, and educating public officials so they won't make them.
David Lawrence
#Citizens

You wouldn't believe what a relief it is to win. At one point we only had a £19 lead over the students. Tense is not sufficient to describe the atmosphere here at the end.
David Lawrence
#Believe

Sex and beauty are inseparable, like life and consciousness. And the intelligence which goes with sex and beauty, and arises out of sex and beauty, is intuition.
David Lawrence
#English Writer

The mind can assert anything and pretend it has proved it. My beliefs I test on my body, on my intuitional consciousness, and when I get a response there, then I accept.
David Lawrence
#Intuition

I am in love - and, my God, it is the greatest thing that can happen to a man. I tell you, find a woman you can fall in love with. Do it. Let yourself fall in love. If you have not done so already, you are wasting your life.
David Lawrence
#God #Love #inspirational

Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
David Lawrence
#English Writer

Money is our madness, our vast collective madness.
David Lawrence
#English Writer

The horse, the horse! The symbol of surging potency and power of movement, of action, in man.
David Lawrence
#Action #Horses

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
David Lawrence
#Short

The youth walks up to the white horse, to put its halter on and the horse looks at him in silence. They are so silent, they are in another world.
David Lawrence
#Short

I Now it is autumn and the falling fruit and the long journey towards oblivion. The apples falling like great drops of dew to bruise themselves an exit from themselves. And it is time to go, to bid farewell to one's own self, and find an exit from the fallen self. II Have you built your ship of death, O have you? O build your ship of death, for you will need it. The grim frost is at hand, when the apples will fall thick, almost thundrous, on the hardened earth. And death is on the air like a smell of ashes! Ah! can't you smell it? And in the bruised body, the frightened soul finds itself shrinking, wincing from the cold that blows upon it through the orifices. III And can a man his own quietus make with a bare bodkin? With daggers, bodkins, bullets, man can make a bruise or break of exit for his life; but is that a quietus, O tell me, is it quietus? Surely not so! for how could murder, even self-murder ever a quietus make? IV O let us talk of quiet that we know, that we can know, the deep and lovely quiet of a strong heart at peace! How can we this, our own quietus, make? V Build then the ship of death, for you must take the longest journey, to oblivion. And die the death, the long and painful death that lies between the old self and the new. Already our bodies are fallen, bruised, badly bruised, already our souls are oozing through the exit of the cruel bruise. Already the dark and endless ocean of the end is washing in through the breaches of our wounds, Already the flood is upon us. Oh build your ship of death, your little ark and furnish it with food, with little cakes, and wine for the dark flight down oblivion. VI Piecemeal the body dies, and the timid soul has her footing washed away, as the dark flood rises. We are dying, we are dying, we are all of us dying and nothing will stay the death-flood rising within us and soon it will rise on the world, on the outside world. We are dying, we are dying, piecemeal our bodies are dying and our strength leaves us, and our soul cowers naked in the dark rain over the flood, cowering in the last branches of the tree of our life. VII We are dying, we are dying, so all we can do is now to be willing to die, and to build the ship of death to carry the soul on the longest journey. A little ship, with oars and food and little dishes, and all accoutrements fitting and ready for the departing soul. Now launch the small ship, now as the body dies and life departs, launch out, the fragile soul in the fragile ship of courage, the ark of faith with its store of food and little cooking pans and change of clothes, upon the flood's black waste upon the waters of the end upon the sea of death, where still we sail darkly, for we cannot steer, and have no port. There is no port, there is nowhere to go only the deepening blackness darkening still blacker upon the soundless, ungurgling flood darkness at one with darkness, up and down and sideways utterly dark, so there is no direction any more and the little ship is there; yet she is gone. She is not seen, for there is nothing to see her by. She is gone! gone! and yet somewhere she is there. Nowhere! VIII And everything is gone, the body is gone completely under, gone, entirely gone. The upper darkness is heavy as the lower, between them the little ship is gone It is the end, it is oblivion. IX And yet out of eternity a thread separates itself on the blackness, a horizontal thread that fumes a little with pallor upon the dark. Is it illusion? or does the pallor fume A little higher? Ah wait, wait, for there's the dawn the cruel dawn of coming back to life out of oblivion Wait, wait, the little ship drifting, beneath the deathly ashy grey of a flood-dawn. Wait, wait! even so, a flush of yellow and strangely, O chilled wan soul, a flush of rose. A flush of rose, and the whole thing starts again. X The flood subsides, and the body, like a worn sea-shell emerges strange and lovely. And the little ship wings home, faltering and lapsing on the pink flood, and the frail soul steps out, into the house again filling the heart with peace. Swings the heart renewed with peace even of oblivion. Oh build your ship of death. Oh build it! for you will need it. For the voyage of oblivion awaits you.
David Lawrence
#Death

Close your eyes, my love, let me make you blind; They have taught you to see Only a mean arithmetic on the face of things, A cunning algebra in the faces of men, And God like geometry Completing his circles, and working cleverly. I'll kiss you over the eyes till I kiss you blind; If I can--if any one could. Then perhaps in the dark you'll have got what you want to find. You've discovered so many bits, with your clever eyes, And I'm a kaleidoscope That you shake and shake, and yet it won't come to your mind. Now stop carping at me.--But God, how I hate you! Do you fear I shall swindle you? Do you think if you take me as I am, that that will abate you Somehow?--so sad, so intrinsic, so spiritual, yet so cautious, you Must have me all in your will and your consciousness-- I hate you.
David Lawrence
#Poems about Women #Spirituality

The feelings I don't have I don't have. The feeling I don't have, I won't say I have. The feelings you say you have, you don't have. The feelings you would like us both to have, we neither of us have. The feelings people ought to have, they never have. If people say they've got feelings, you may be pretty sure they haven't got them. So if you want either of us to feel anything at all You'd better abandon all ideas of feelings altogether.
David Lawrence
#Women

The elephant, the huge old beast, is slow to mate; he finds a female, they show no haste they wait for the sympathy in their vast shy hearts slowly, slowly to rouse as they loiter along the river-beds and drink and browse and dash in panic through the brake of forest with the herd, and sleep in massive silence, and wake together, without a word. So slowly the great hot elephant hearts grow full of desire, and the great beasts mate in secret at last, hiding their fire. Oldest they are and the wisest of beasts so they know at last how to wait for the loneliest of feasts for the full repast. They do not snatch, they do not tear; their massive blood moves as the moon-tides, near, more near till they touch in flood.
David Lawrence
#Sympathy

Why does the thin grey strand Floating up from the forgotten Cigarette between my fingers, Why does it trouble me? Ah, you will understand; When I carried my mother downstairs, A few times only, at the beginning Of her soft-foot malady, I should find, for a reprimand To my gaiety, a few long grey hairs On the breast of my coat; and one by one I let them float up the dark chimney.
David Lawrence
#Sorrow

Search for nothing any more, nothing except truth. Be very still, and try and get at the truth. And the first question to ask yourself is: How great a liar am I?
David Lawrence
#Short

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time. If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me! If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift! If only, most lovely of all, I yield myself and am borrowed By the fine, fine wind that takes its course though the chaos of the world Like a fine, and exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted; If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge Driven by invisible blows, The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder, we shall find the Hesperides. Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul, I would be a good fountain, a good well-head, Would blur no whisper, spoil no expression. What is the knocking? What is the knocking at the door in the night? It's somebody wants to do us harm. No, no, it is the three strange angels. Admit them, admit them.
David Lawrence
#Song