It grew late. Through the open door, stealthily, came the scent of madonna lilies, almost as if it were prowling abroad.
D. H. LawrenceThe autumn always gets me badly, as it breaks into colours. I want to go south, where there is no autumn, where the cold doesn't crouch over one like a snow-leopard waiting to pounce.
D. H. LawrenceLiterary criticism can be no more than a reasoned account of the feeling produced upon the critic by the book he is criticising.
D. H. Lawrence