D.H. Lawrence

D.H. Lawrence

WRITER

David Herbert Lawrence was born in Nottinghamshire, England, 11 September 1885. His father was a coal miner, his mother a genteel woman who sought education and refinement for her son. Lawrence earned a university degree and taught school for a short time. While still a student he began to publish his poems and short stories. He fell in love with the wife of a professor, Frieda von Richthofen Weekley. She eloped with Lawrence, abandoning her husband and three small children. Lawrence's pet themes of myth, freedom, redemption, the difficulty and necessity of emotional, erotic expression and the inevitable torments of family relationships occupied him throughout his life. Eventually, there would be accusations of obscenity, his novel "Lady Chatterley's Lover" being the most prominent example.

  • When was
    D.H. Lawrence born?

    D.H. Lawrence was born on Friday, September 11, 1885

  • Where was
    D.H. Lawrence born?

    D.H. Lawrence was born in Eastwood, Nottghamshire, England, UK

  • How old was
    D.H. Lawrence when they died?

    D.H. Lawrence was 44

  • When did D.H. Lawrence die?

    D.H. Lawrence died on
    Sunday, March 2, 1930

  • How tall is D.H. Lawrence?

    D.H. Lawrence is 5'9"(1.75m)


Best Quotes

  • We ought to dance with rapture that we might be alive - and part of the living, incarnate cosmos.
  • We and the cosmos are one. The cosmos is a vast body, of which we are still parts. The sun is a great heart whose tremors run through our smallest veins. The moon is a great gleaming nerve-centre from which we quiver forever. Who knows the power that Saturn has over us or Venus But it is a vital power, rippling exquisitely through us all the time... Now all this is literally true, as men knew in the great past and as they will know again.
  • There are three cures for ennui: sleep, drink and travel.
  • The great virtue in life is real courage that knows how to face facts and live beyond them.
  • One watches them on the seashore, all the people, and there is something pathetic, almost wistful in them, as if they wished their lives did not add up to this scaly nullity of possession, but as if they could not escape. It is a dragon that has devoured us all: these obscene, scaly houses, this insatiable struggle and desire to possess, to possess always and in spite of everything, this need to be an owner, lest one be owned. It is too hideous and nauseating. Owners and owned, they are like the two sides of a ghastly disease. One feels a sort of madness come over one, as if the world had become hell. But it is only superimposed: it is only a temporary disease. It can be cleaned away.
  • Never trust the artist. Trust the tale.
  • I have never seen a wild thing feel sorry for itself. A little bird will fall dead, frozen from a bough, without ever having felt sorry for itself.
  • I believe a man is born first unto himself-for the happy developing of himself, while the world is a nursery, and the pretty things are to be snatched for, and pleasant things tasted some people seem to exist thus right to the end. But most are born again on entering manhood then they are born to humanity, to a consciousness of all the laughing, and the never-ceasing murmur of pain and sorrow that comes from the terrible multitudes of brothers.
  • hy doesn't the past decently bury itself, instead of sitting waiting to be admired by the present
  • For whereas the mind works in possibilities, the intuitions work in actualities, and what you intuitively desire, that is possible to you. Whereas what you mentally or 'consciously' desire is nine times out of ten impossible; hitch your wagon to star, or you will just stay where you are.

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