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D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence
David Herbert Lawrence (1885-1930) was an English novelist, poet, essayist, and critic, known for his profound explorations of human emotions, sexuality, and modernity. His most famous works include "Sons and Lovers," "The Rainbow," and "Lady Chatterley's Lover," which challenged the conventions of his time with their candid depictions of intimate relationships and social issues. Despite facing significant censorship and controversy, Lawrence's literary contributions have had a lasting impact on 20th-century literature and thought.
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CHAPTER I THE DECLINE OF MANCHESTER HOUSE Take a mining townlet like Woodhouse, with a population of ten thousand people, and three generations behind it. This space of three generations argues a certain well-established society. The old "County" has fled from the sight of so much disembowelled coal, to flourish on mineral rights in regions still idyllic. Remains one great and inaccessible...
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APPREHENSION AND all hours long, the town Roars like a beast in a caveThat is wounded thereAnd like to drown; While days rush, wave after waveOn its lair. An invisible woe unseals The flood, so it passes beyondAll bounds: the great old cityRecumbent roars as it feels The foamy paw of the pondReach from immensity. But all that it can do Now, as the tide rises,Is to listen and hear the...
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ARGUMENT After much struggling and loss in love and in the world of man, the protagonist throws in his lot with a woman who is already married. Together they go into another country, she perforce leaving her children behind. The conflict of love and hate goes on between the man and the woman, and between these two and the world around them, till it reaches some sort of conclusion, they transcend into...
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GUARDS! A Review in Hyde Park 1913.The Crowd Watches. WHERE the trees rise like cliffs, proud and blue-tinted in the distance,Between the cliffs of the trees, on the grey- green parkRests a still line of soldiers, red motionless range of guardsSmouldering with darkened busbies beneath the bay- onets' slant rain. Colossal in nearness a blue police sits still on his horseGuarding the...
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TEASE I WILL give you all my keys, You shall be my châtelaine,You shall enter as you please, As you please shall go again. When I hear you jingling through All the chambers of my soul,How I sit and laugh at you In your vain housekeeping rôle. Jealous of the smallest cover, Angry at the simplest door;Well, you anxious, inquisitive lover, Are you pleased with what's in store? You...
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They had marched more than thirty kilometres since dawn, along the white, hot road where occasional thickets of trees threw a moment of shade, then out into the glare again. On either hand, the valley, wide and shallow, glittered with heat; dark green patches of rye, pale young corn, fallow and meadow and black pine woods spread in a dull, hot diagram under a glistening sky. But right in front the...
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There was thin, crisp snow on the ground, the sky was blue, the wind very cold, the air clear. Farmers were just turning out the cows for an hour or so in the midday, and the smell of cow-sheds was unendurable as I entered Tible. I noticed the ash-twigs up in the sky were pale and luminous, passing into the blue. And then I saw the peacocks. There they were in the road before me, three of them, and...
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BABY TORTOISE You know what it is to be born alone,Baby tortoise!The first day to heave your feet little by littlefrom the shell,Not yet awake,And remain lapsed on earth,Not quite alive. A tiny, fragile, half-animate bean. To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as ifit would never open,Like some iron door;To lift the upper hawk-beak from the lower baseAnd reach your skinny little neckAnd take your...
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PREFACE A nice phrase: "A People's Theatre." But what about it? There's no such thing in existence as a People's Theatre: or even on the way to existence, as far as we can tell. The name is chosen, the baby isn't even begotten: nay, the would-be parents aren't married, nor yet courting. A People's Theatre. Note the indefinite article. It isn't The...
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CHAPTER I HOW TOM BRANGWEN MARRIED A POLISH LADY I The Brangwens had lived for generations on the Marsh Farm, in the meadows where the Erewash twisted sluggishly through alder trees, separating Derbyshire from Nottinghamshire. Two miles away, a church-tower stood on a hill, the houses of the little country town climbing assiduously up to it. Whenever one of the Brangwens in the fields lifted his head...
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