[b]D.H. Lawrence
Life and love are life and love, a bunch of violets is a bunch of violets, and to drag in the idea of a point is to ruin everything. Live and let live, love and let love, flower and fade, and follow the natural curve, which flows on, pointless.[/b]
On the other hand, what’s the point of this?
This is the very worst wickedness, that we refuse to acknowledge the passionate evil that is in us.
If it is even evil at all.
If a woman hasn’t got a tiny streak of harlot in her, she’s a dry stick as a rule.
So, by all means, bring it out in her.
What the eye doesn’t see and the mind doesn’t know, doesn’t exist.
Unless of course that’s not actually true.
Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved. The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing.
Maybe in la la land he thought.
When I hear modern people complain of being lonely then I know what has happened. They have lost the cosmos.
I’ve never been lonely he mused so fuck the cosmos.
At least until death do they part.