[b]D.H. Lawrence
You live by what you thrill to, and there’s the end of it.[/b]
Though, sure, for most of us vicariously.
My God, these folks don’t know how to love – that’s why they love so easily.
Or: My God, these folks don’t know how to hate – that’s why they hate so easily.
Then just move on to the next one.
Men fight for liberty and win it with hard knocks. Their children, brought up easy, let it slip away again, poor fools. And their grandchildren are once more slaves.
Let’s file this one under, “just look around you”.
She herself had never been able to be altogether herself: it had been denied her.
I know: You don’t think this can ever happen to you.
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! But what? In the obscurity and pathlessness to take a direction! But whither? How take even one step? And yet, how stand still? This was torment indeed, to inherit the responsibility of one’s own life.
Or something pretty damn close to it.
In the short summer night she learned so much. She would have thought a woman would have died of shame… She felt, now, she had come to the real bedrock of her nature, and was essentially shameless. She was her sensual self, naked an unashamed. She felt a triumph, almost a vainglory. So! That was how it was! That was life! That was how onself really was! There was nothing left to disguise or be ashamed of. She shared her ultimate nakedness with a man, another being.
Look, back then this was really something.