The upshot was, my paintings must burn that English artists might finally learn.
The map appears to us more real than the land.
Once you abstract from this, once you generalize and postulate Universals, you have departed from the creative reality, and entered the realm of static fixity, mechanism, materialism.
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 a star, or you will just stay where you are.
Oh build your ship of death. Oh build it! For you will need it. For the voyage of oblivion awaits you.
Paris was sad. One of the saddest towns: weary of its now-mechanical sensuality, weary of the tension of money, money, money, weary even of resentment and conceit, just weary to death, and still not sufficiently Americanized or Londonized to hide the weariness under a mechanical jig-jig-jig!
Nothing is as bad as a marriage that's a hopeless failure.
All this Americanising and mechanising has been for the purpose of overthrowing the past. And now look at America, tangled in her own barbed wire, and mastered by her own machines.
If a novel reveals true and vivid relationships, it is a moral work, no matter what the relationships consist in. If the novelisthonours the relationship in itself, it will be a great novel.
In America the chief accusation seems to be one of "Eroticism." This is odd, rather puzzling to my mind. Which Eros? Eros of the jaunty "amours," or Eros of the sacred mysteries? And if the latter, why accuse, why not respect, even venerate?
Brave people add up to an aristocracy. The democracy of thou-shalt-not is bound to be a collection of weak men.
I'd wipe the machines off the face of the earth again, and end the industrial epoch absolutely, like a black mistake.
The sense of wonder, that is our sixth sense.
They say geniuses mostly have great mothers. They mostly have sad fates.
The proper study of mankind is man in his relation to his deity.
The refined punishments of the spiritual mode are usually much more indecent and dangerous than a good smack.
California is a queer place in a way, it has turned its back on the world, and looks into the void Pacific. It is absolutely selfish, very empty, but not false, and at least, not full of false effort.
But the act, called the sexual act, is not for the depositing of seed. It is for leaping off into the unknown, as from a cliff's edge, like Sappho into the sea.
Be sure your sins will find you out, especially if you're married and her name's Bertha
So as long as you can forget your body you are happy and the moment you begin to be aware of your body, you are wretched. So if civilization is any good, it has to help us forget our bodies, and then time passes happily without our knowing it. Help us get rid of our bodies altogether.
It's terrible, once you've got a man into your blood!" she said.
Aren't I enough for you?' she asked. 'No,' he said. 'You are enough for me, as far as a woman is concerned. You are all women to me. But I wanted a man friend, as eternal as you and I are eternal.' (Women in Love)
Curse the blasted, jelly-boned swines, the slimy, the belly-wriggling invertebrates, the miserable soddingrotters, the flaming sods, the sniveling, dribbling, dithering, palsied, pulse-less lot that make up England today. They've got white of egg in their veins, and their spunk is that watery it's a marvel they can breed.
I do esteem individual liberty above everything. What is a nation for, but to secure the maximum liberty to every individual?
Unless one decorates one's house for oneself alone, best leave it bare, for other people are walleyed.
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