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Mornings in Mexico is a collection of travel essays by D. H. Lawrence about Mexico where he travelled several times and was fascinated by what he observed there of the exotic people and their way of life. It displays Lawrence's gifts as a travel writer, catching the...
Lady Chatterley's Lover is a novel by D. H. Lawrence written in 1928. Printed privately in Florence in 1928, it was not printed in the United Kingdom until 1960 (other than in an underground edition issued by Inky Stephensen's Mandrake Press in 1929). Lawrence...
Equally famous for his masterful canvasses and tumultuous mental health, Amedeo Modigliani (1884-1920) was, in many ways, the prototypical tortured artist. A lifelong sufferer of painfully degenerative tuberculosis, Modigliani was famous for denying his disease with a...
Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go...
The story which follows was first written out in Paris during the Peace Conference, from notes jotted daily on the march, strengthened by some reports sent to my chiefs in Cairo. Afterwards, in the autumn of 1919, this first draft and some of the notes were lost. It...
There was a large, brilliant evening star in the early twilight, and underfoot the earth was half frozen. It was Christmas Eve. Also the War was over, and there was a sense of relief that was almost a new menace. A man felt the violence of the nightmare released now...
Hannele did not lift her head from her work. She sat in a low chair under a reading-lamp, a basket of coloured silk pieces beside her, and in her hands a doll, or mannikin, which she was dressing. She was doing something to the knee of the mannikin, so that the poor...
He was working on the edge of the common, beyond the small brook that ran in the dip at the bottom of the garden, carrying the garden path in continuation from the plank bridge on to the common.He had cut the rough turf and bracken, leaving the grey, dryish soil bare....
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...
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...
The imperial road to Italy goes from Munich across the Tyrol, through Innsbruck and Bozen to Verona, over the mountains. Here the great processions passed as the emperors went South, or came home again from rosy Italy to their own Germany.
THE BOTTOMS succeeded to Hell Row. Hell Row was a block of thatched, bulging cottages that stood by the brookside on Greenhill Lane. There lived the colliers who worked in the little gin-pits two fields away. The brook ran under the alder trees, scarcely soiled by...
A bunch of workmen were lying on the grass of the park beside Macquarie Street, in the dinner hour. It was winter, the end of May, but the sun was warm, and they lay there in shirt-sleeves, talking. Some were eating food from paper packages. They were a mixed lot ...
'Take off that mute, do!' cried Louisa, snatching her fingers from the piano keys, and turning abruptly to the violinist.
Dans L'homme qui était mort, le Sauveur, qui a beaucoup prêché et peu vécu, ressuscite plein de déception. Rempli d'amertume, l'âme éteinte, il part en quête de la vraie vie, de cet élan vital - si cher à Lawrence - qu'il a ignoré dans son premier séjour sur terre.
Éperdu, en fuite après un grave incident, un soldat se réfugie chez la timide servante à laquelle il est fiancé. D'abord partagée entre son sens du devoir et son amour, la jeune fille finit par s'abandonner... L'auteur de L'Amant de lady Chatterley nous offre trois...
"Le dimanche matin, toute la famille, sauf la mère, descendait la rue vers l'église, les longues jambes des filles sortant de robes étriquées, les garçons portant des vestes noires et des pantalons gris qui ne leur allaient pas. Ils croisaient les paroissiens de leur...
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