About D. H. Lawrence
The Machine Will Never Triumph, part two
D. H. Lawrence’s symbol, which he chose to represent him at an early age, was the phoenix, a symbol that suited the man well. If there is one word that describes Lawrence, that would be “resurrection,” for the man who was a sickly kid lived long past the time his physical body should have collapsed. Though the physical Lawrence is no longer with us, his spirit still makes its presence known, much like Christians affirm that the spirit of Jesus is alive and well. Nietzsche says the following:
That author has drawn the happiest lot who as an old man can say that all of [the] life-engendering, strengthening, elevating, enlightening thought and feeling that was in him lives on in his writings, and that he himself is now nothing but the grey ashes, while the fire has everywhere been rescued and borne forward.1
As such, Lawrence’s spirit should be well pleased, for his writings embody the man in the way few writings from any author can, though Lorenzo lives on not just through his writings, but also as a fiery spirit that has come into living touch with the Heraclitean flux. If this sounds close to the descriptions of religious prophets, that is for the good reason that David Herbert Lawrence (known by friends and family as Lorenzo) was and is seen by many as a prophet. DHL could see things that others could not, but above and beyond this, he was a prophet in the traditional sense by bringing a revelation of the Gods to the people. Any list of prophets that includes Buddha, Christ, and Muhammad, must also include Lorenzo. Consider this moving affirmation by author Henry Miller:
There was Christ, the one splendid, shining figure who has dominated our whole history. There was also another man—St. Francis of Assisi. He was second to Christ in every sense. He made a tremendous impression upon our world, perhaps because, like those Bodhisattvas who renounced Nirvana in order to aid humanity, he too elected to remain close to us. There were these two resplendent figures, then. Will there be a third? Can there be?
If there was any man in the course of modern times who most nearly attained this summit it was D. H. Lawrence.2
Miller is correct in what he says here, except that Lawrence didn’t “nearly” attain the summit, but, for reasons I describe below, almost certainly attained the same summit that other prophets attained before him. DHL has not had the same impact upon the world as Christ or Muhammad, but that does not mean he will not or cannot have that effect. If Lawrence’s life and writings do not affect a change in the very centers of our being, that may be our fault, not his, and I fear it would be our eternal tragedy if we fail to recognize the prophetic voice of our times.
Of course, whenever a great prophet, saint, or leader comes forth to help us, there will arise enemies. Enemies of Lawrence, such as author Kate Millett have tainted the views of Lawrence in the minds of many young people. It is sad that people who need Lawrence the most refuse to read him because of the mad rantings of an academic theorist incapable of beautiful writing. Tony Hoagland wrote the following poem about this phenomenon:
On two occasions in the past twelve months
I have failed, when someone at a party
spoke of him with a dismissive scorn,
to stand up for D. H. Lawrence,
a man who burned like an acetylene torch
from one end to the other of his life.
These individuals, whose relationship to literature
is approximately that of a tree shredder
to stands of old-growth forest,
these people leaned back in their chairs,
bellies full of dry white wine and the ovum of some foreign fish,
and casually dropped his name
the way pygmies with their little poison spears
strut around the carcass of a fallen elephant.
“O Elephant,” they say,
“you are not so big and brave today!”
It’s a bad day when people speak of their superiors
with a contempt they haven’t earned,
and it’s a sorry thing when certain other people
don’t defend the great dead ones
who have opened up the world before them.
And though, in the catalogue of my betrayals,
this is a fairly minor entry,
I resolve, if the occasion should recur,
to uncheck my tongue and say, “I love the spectacle
of maggots condescending to a corpse,”
or, “You should be so lucky in your brainy, bloodless life
as to deserve to lift
just one of D. H. Lawrence’s urine samples
to your arid psychobiographic
Or maybe I’ll just take the shortcut
between the spirit and the flesh,
and punch someone in the face,
because human beings haven’t come that far
in their effort to subdue the body,
and we still walk around like zombies
in our dying, burning world,
able to do little more
than fight, and fuck, and crow,
something Lawrence wrote about
in such a manner
as to make us seem magnificent.3
Literary theorists and critics are a strange group of people: individuals who write about something they have no talent for, namely writing. Perhaps all the repressed anger at their inability to write well causes outbursts at individuals who actually have talent. We need to learn to read the poets rather than the people writing about the poets, and happier we will be. Lawrence’s writings are a guide to life. His philosophy is always joined to practice, rather than rendered as lifeless gibberish like so much philosophy is today. Lawrence’s descriptions are lively and they make you think about your own life. For example: “‘I hate automobiles! Nasty, unreliable machine-monsters!’ Lawrence put in emphatically.”4 Automobiles are “nasty, unreliable machine-monsters” and if you want the world to change for the better, you must first learn to see how these “machine-monsters” are crushing us, and then you too may begin to hate them. The question concerning technology is not just a philosophical question, but is the religious question of our times. Lawrence understood that technology, and the machines that are the embodiment of technology, are symbols of evil and are a true curse upon us, a curse that must be expunged before joy can be restored to life on Mother Earth.
According to Lawrence the curse of our age is machinery. The substitute of the machine for life means death. He talked much of this: he hated the automobiles, so many of which rushed past us over the Swiss roads. “I would like to remove that little bridge there and let them all go tumbling down into that valley.” “Oh the world is going insane, I really believe it. There is such a thing as mass insanity; things will change[.]”5
Yes, as bad as things are now, they will change, for the one constant in the universe is πάντα ῥεῖ. The question is whether we passively watch as beauty is effaced from this planet, or actively strive to reduce ugliness and bring beauty back to the world. “Lawrence was alone in the depth of his prescience of the crisis of humanity which has developed since his death.”6 Others have seen some of the things Lawrence has seen, but no one has had such a comprehensive vision of both the true nature of the problems afflicting us, and possible roads towards salvation. Perhaps this was best described by Henry Miller:
Lawrence was both distinctively unique and a figure representative of our time. He stands out among the constellations as a tiny, blazing star; he glows more brilliantly in the measure that we understand our age. Had he not reflected his epoch so thoroughly he would have already been forgotten. As it is, his importance increases with time. It is not that he grows bigger, or that he move nearer the earth. No, he remains where he was at the beginning: he remains just a little bit over the horizon, like an evening star; but as night comes on—and it is the night which is coming stronger and stronger—he waxes more brilliant. We understand him better as we go down into the night.7
As we go further and further down into the black technological night, we are even in more desperate need of Lawrence. The problems of our era are not the problems facing Jesus, Muhammad, or Buddha; they are problems qualitatively and quantitatively different, and for that reason the Gods must send new prophets to guide us, such as D. H. Lawrence. There are many great thinkers, poets, and philosophers who say wonderful things and preach austerity, but reveal hypocrisy through their daily lives. Lawrence was different. “Lawrence not only preached that he didn’t want to possess and did not care for money, but practised it as well.”8 Even when DHL had barely a shilling to his name, he gave, and gave generously to family, friends, and even strangers in need.
“Everything to-day is becoming externalized and sterilized and made dead by machines and such contraptions, and we need to get back to the point where we first lost touch with the old sensibility.”9 For this reason we must get out of our head, and get back inside our hearts. Once we get in touch with the pulsing life-force at the center of our being, we must either wither and die in the face of the death-machines, or fight them physically and spiritually; and the fight against the machines will be a holy war. “Civilization today is hell industrialized, hell, hell, hell on a gigantic scale.”10 Yet, as Dante showed, one can make the long journey from hell to paradise. Paradise is the natural state of life on this planet and the current hell we are experiencing is only an aberration of a few hundred years in the making.
We must change the world, but not in the ways the French or Russian revolutions changed the world.
Lawrence had a passionate feeling for “the workers” and had nothing against the overthrow of society, in so far as that was necessary for the growth of a new way of life. But it was chiefly with the new way of life that he was concerned, and this was in opposition to the Marxist ideal. He disbelieved in working for revolution on economic grounds as completely as bolstering up the present system by reforms. In other words he was a religious teacher, and in some degree a mystic, though of a new sort.11
A revolution brought about for social or economic ends may generate a catastrophe far worse than that which existed before the revolution. A revolution, if it is to be brought about, should not be a collective action, but the action of individuals who are brought together with others in loving-kindness—a spirit of tenderness and togetherness. Any change should be radical, for there can be no gradual reformation of the Machine.
Villard [a member of the Labour Party] turned to Lawrence and asked him what he thought should be done to save the world. “Those of us who had read some of Lawrence held our breaths and he rose to the occasion. White beneath his scraggly beard, Lawrence replied with measured ferocity: ‘I thought, Mr Villard, you understood that I hoped it would go to pieces as rapidly and as completely as possible.’”12
The longer the technological system goes on, trampling the earth beneath it, the worse our problems will get, and reforms only serve to prolong our collective agony. The entire system must be obliterated, and we must start afresh in a spirit of vitality, with the animals and the past as examples. Rationality has been the pillar of our age, so let’s get out of our heads, and get into our hearts. We have too much knowledge, too much science, too much thinking, and not enough poetry, not enough feeling.
Lawrence disapproved of too much knowledge, on the score that it diminished men’s sense of wonder and blunted their sensitiveness to the great mystery. His dislike of science was passionate[…] “All scientists are liars,” he would say, when I brought up some experimentally established fact, which he happened to dislike. “Liars, liars!” […] I remember in particular one long and violent argument on evolution, in the reality of which Lawrence always passionately disbelieved. “But look at the evidence, Lawrence,” I insisted, “look at all the evidence.” His answer was characteristic. “But I don’t care about evidence. Evidence doesn’t mean anything to me. I don’t feel it here.” And he presses his two hands on his solar plexus. […] He could have understood the aim and methods of science perfectly well if he had wanted to. Indeed, he did understand them perfectly well; and it was for that very reason that he rejected them.13
Let that sink in: “he did understand them perfectly well; and it was for that very reason that he rejected them.” Lawrence did not blindly reject science despite knowledge of it, but rejected it precisely because his knowledge of it proved that it was wrong in more ways than one. Science may be right about many things, but none of that matters for experience. We do not experience the sun as a ball of gas, but instead as a magnificent source of heat, light, and life. If we do not subjectively feel something, then it is not imagined to be wrong, but is wrong. Whether we evolved or not is beside the point, for we are what we are, and unless we are an ape, we should not feel like one in the depths of our solar plexus.
Lawrence was right, when in answer to Huxley’s scientific proofs regarding evolution, he put his hand on his solar plexus and said: “I don’t feel it here.” What a primitive and deeply revelatory gesture. Like putting his hand on his soul!14
Rolf Gardiner wrote:
I take it you meant The Plumed Serpent absolutely seriously. For me, it was a most wonderfully courageous essay to think out the course of action that must be taken somewhere. Won’t you write us a Plumed Serpent for northern Europe, someday? You know, more individuals among my generation are coming to understand, or shall I say accept, your work? Or rather it is for them the most potent agency for breaking down the clogging crust which is imposed by “modern” knowledge on men, that exists in that form. You have taught me how to feel, I think. And one goes to your books again and again to be warmed and healed by that “faceless flame” and surging godly rhythm which make all other books seem as dead and dreary as cold mutton in a restaurant window.15
In The Plumed Serpent, Lawrence creates a new-old religion based on the ancient pre-Christian beliefs, and he did mean for all of us to take it seriously. Gardiner was right in that The Plumed Serpent had parts that were not applicable to Europe, so Lawrence wrote his European revelation, though not in the form of a novel, but in the form of poetry, namely his Pansies and Last Poems. All of Lawrence’s books are healing vivifiers, but the poems most of all. One of the best descriptions of Lorenzo comes from Mabel Dodge Luhan who writes:
Lawrence had a belief in an almost unlimited power that it was his destiny to wield for the destruction of the old modes, the evil, outworn ways of the world, as well as the new, equivocal, and so-called aids to life called the inventions of science. This was a belief that he had frequently talked of to me. He really thought he was able to deal death—to destroy and to create; and that he was here on earth for that purpose; that if he could overcome evil and destroy it, he would have fulfilled his destiny. But he knew it was a struggle in which he might fail—the Satanic powers could destroy him if he were not everlastingly vigilant and alert. These deathly and backward-plunging powers worked through people in whom they embodied themselves. So the gods ruled, he believed, using men and women for their instruments. And he was on the right side, he believed; on the side of the great, dark gods that would destroy and overcome the enemies of life, all those enemies of life that strengthen themselves with machinery, with all mechanics, whether of steel or of brain. He believed the intrinsic acceptance of machinery was a hampering of life and a subtle temptation of the inimical spirit, just as he thought that most of the mental systems—all forms of thought and intellect—were schemes of the Devil to put life in chains. And he spent himself opposing this subtle, tendency that masqueraded as modernity, but was in reality both murder and suicide. He was allied with the old, dark gods of life, the undisclosed, impenetrable gods who live in the living and remain forever unnamed. So, […] life for Lorenzo was a fight to the death, and the world was a battle-field for him.16
Lawrence understood he was in communion with the Gods, and his mission on earth was to provide a kind of healing. He could have had an easier life, but he lived more in his brief years than most do who live twice as long. He did not live long enough to make the changes that he preached, except in himself, but he did leave us his writings which are invaluable guides on the path. One of the criticisms of DHL is that he could have been no true prophet because of his episodes of rage, but that argument holds no water. Moses was full of rage, and any who don’t feel rage at the blackening of the skies, the poisoning of the seas, the torturing and killing of animals, and the roughshod desecration of the earth must be dead inside. Lawrence was always a believer in Life, and hated all that was anti-life, the Machine most of all.
[W]hen he is swept along by his paroxysm of hate, there is in Lawrence’s language so rich, so dark, at once so lucid and enigmatic, a direct and overwhelming appeal to the blood and soul of man, as if he had surmounted all the barriers which language imposes, a direct appeal to the blood. There are poison and fire in his words, and a terrible naked beauty, as if like the dragon of life itself he found himself caught in the very whirlpool of flux and writhed and lashed there eternally. With its heavy load of fire and blood, of curses and threats, with its parables, liturgies, symbols and dreams, its drugged passion and gem-like brilliance, his language seems to be wrung out of the groans and despair, the frustration and perpetual hope of man, wrung out of deep, burning purpose; sincere, so sincere that his language scorches, leaves holes in the canvas, creates meaning for itself as it goes along, creates meaning out of the holes even, rips the veil between meaning and expression, flames into highest symbol, flames and dies on a page, in a line, in a word; a perpetual birth and death, a perpetual renewal from the inner source, a moaning and cursing, a dancing and soaring, a sheer fountain of icy clarity leaping from chaos and back again to chaos; a saturation of man and universe so complete, so devastating, that we have in us the illusion of his undying existence. […] The soul of the man—that is his gospel! And there, if we could follow him, lies our salvation. He is like one of those frightening figures which he described in his journeys through the Tyrol—a withered, emaciated, grotesque thing nailed to a cross. A horrible symbol of man, but an inspiring one. […] I see him as a sort of intellectual savage restoring to man that nomadic quality which he has lost, sending him down the open road to God[…] A road without end—but he sends him down it filled with ecstasy[…] So that out of the corruption there may spring forth a new life, a blazing, magnificent life such as man has never known, never even dreamed of.17
One of the great miracles of Lawrence is that nearly one-hundred years after his death, he is able to change the consciousness of his readers through the words he wrote. Lorenzo, unlike nearly all writers in history could be considered a psychic brain surgeon, for he literally changes the entire outlook on life of those who come to his books with open minds and open hearts. Changing society is impossible without changing the individual and if people came to Lorenzo’s writings with their eyes open, they may have a transformational experience similar to the early Christians.
Even the great prophets are human, and they must all proceed through the steps along a spiritual path, though at an accelerated rate. Lawrence stated: “I intend to find God: I wish to realize my relation with Him.”18 By the time he wrote his Last Poems it is clear that he had attained that realization. The path opened up by Lawrence is open to all of us, but only those who are individuals, not those who are totally enmeshed by their gadgets and machines. “The doctrines of renunciation[…] are for the aristocrats of the spirit—for individuals always: Plato, Jesus, Mahomet, Buddha, D. H. Lawrence.”19
If we do not have knowledge of the divine realities, we must either be assimilated by the robot masses of humankind or find wisdom through the words of those who did have such wisdom. “Lawrence often spoke in a way which implied that he was in possession of occult knowledge.”20 Lawrence was one of those who have looked into into the eyes of the Gods. If we desire that same gift, we can begin by looking into the eyes of Lorenzo through the words of his voluminous writings.
Today our idea of life is to slave away at a job that is just slavery by another name, then to spend the rest of our waking hours at a phone, computer, or television. This is not life; this is living death.
He shames one, Lawrence. His unquenchable, burning spirit, his totality, his ubiquitousness, his aliveness. Lawrence on his deathbed had more life than most men have in their moments of highest ecstasy, if ecstasy there be in the world any more. “We ought to dance with rapture,” he said. “That we should be alive in the flesh, and part of the living, incarnate cosmos. I am part of the sun as my eye is part of me.”
At the core of him was this God-flame, this wheel of light flashing over the four quarters of the earth, over the heavens, and the waters beneath the earth, this flaming wheel that rolled over Cézanne and Dostoevski and Whitman, and that touched the Chaldeans and the Aztecs and the Etruscans, that threw an incandescent light on Plotinus and Nietzsche both, on Lorenzo the Magnificent and on Quetzalcoatl; a flame, scorching and devouring, that reaches to the mystery in all things.21
The flame that touched Lawrence is still with us, it is the basis for all that is, it is the Heraclitean Fire. Whether we live or die, whether we destroy or create, the Fire is eternal, and since Lawrence is Fire embodied, he is eternal as well. The life of the average man on the street is meaningless, but there is meaning in the world. There is more life and meaning in the average worm than the average human today, but that can change. Lawrence brought a message of change and resurrection. To change, one must first rediscover wonder, and then one must learn to live in the here and now.
Lawrence had the power of linking paltry occurrences with enduring reality. He had a way of transmuting the dull stuff of life into cloth-of-gold, he could lead one from a blade of grass to the Brahma world.
Vivid as is the writing of Lawrence, it is less than the speech that poured from his lips; more convincing than either, was the man himself. He was redolent of life, its goodness and beauty and truth. Whatever he was, whatever he had, he shared with all, keeping nothing back.
He had no need to withhold, for he was a living fountain that had tapped the stream of life, which flowed inexhaustibly through him.22
Lawrence, like Ramana Maharshi, gave more through his touch and his presence than through his writings. Everyone who came in touch with Lawrence was irrevocably changed. But, Lawrence is still with us: On a trip to Taos, NM, I experienced Lorenzo, who visited me. On the day of my visit to the Lawrence Ranch, I arrived early and so the gate was initially closed. I had to wait approximately half an hour for the groundskeeper to open the gate. Once at the ranch, I first proceeded to the shrine for DHL. I entered the building, then walked past the gate. I approached the memorial that is believed to contain his ashes and recited a number of his poems. After this, I bowed down and placed my forehead on the floor in a state of prayerful prostration. I felt an immense sense of peace and power flow through me.
After this, I walked down to the cabin DHL lived in. The cabin was closed to all visitors, but the groundskeeper opened it for me. Once inside, I felt a gust of wind, like a spirit blow through me. I then sat down nestled at the base of the old pine tree where DHL would write. After some time, I saw clearly DHL’s figure bending over me, made of many millions of small shimmering particles. The form was filled out and was glowing and emanating light. He looked at me with an expression I imagine one sees in every true guru in history. I heard no spoken words, but felt the thought, as if it was put into me that I must go to where the “woman ran away.” I blinked and the vision was no more.
I wondered about where the woman ran away, then realized it must be the cave that DHL spent time in that inspired the story The Woman who Ran Away. In that story, the woman gives up her worldly ego and is sacrificed physically upon an altar. I spent a little more time at the DHL ranch and then proceeded to the cave, which is located at Arroyo Seco.
I went to this cave and proceeded to meditate. At some point I entered a state between sleep and wakefulness. First, I saw a snake, which came very close to me and I had an immense amount of fear. But I did nothing, knowing that snakes are harbingers of visions, and if I showed fear, ran, or attacked the snake, the vision would not be granted me. The snake came to within a meter, then left. Not long after, a beautiful owl landed on a tree branch right in front of my field of vision. I felt that some sort of communication was about to be established, was imminent. I felt an overwhelming presence and then saw DHL standing before me, not in the form of shimmering particles, but in the flesh. Never in my life have I felt so infused with joy. DHL was before me with his bright red beard trimmed to a point, which felt as if it was made of actual fire, and his eyes were as blue as the brightest sapphires. Yet, his dress was not what I was accustomed to, but that of an ancient Egyptian priest.
He told me that the prophet who approached him late one night in Germany, and which he had described in a letter, was a true prophet, and told Lawrence that he was destined to go to Egypt. He stated that time is relative, that the Judeo-Christian and modern machine-dominated civilization has made us perceive time as only moving forward. But, in fact that, just as the unity of being includes the three dimensional world, it also includes the fourth dimension of time. He told me that after building his ship of death, he passed through what the Tibetans call the Bardo, and emerged as a priest of Osiris in Ancient Egypt, but still able to remember his previous life.
He then told me that the Machine would destroy all beauty in this world within 200 years, but that it would eventually crumble under the constraints of its own complexity, and that aeons into the future, beauty would return to this world again, and it’s paradisal state would be restored. Thus in the long-term the machine would not triumph.
He further said that since the past is real and ever-present, the machine even in these dark days is faced with its own negation. And that, the machine finally triumphs or fails in the hearts and breasts of men. Therefore, if one has their heart open to the Gods and closed to the Machine, then the machine cannot triumph there. He told me my path is to be a spiritual warrior, my weapon would be my writing. Though I was likely to fail, my efforts would benefit my soul and those of a few select others.
He touched my shoulder and innumerable vines sprung up from the ground and I saw the approach of an apparition of Dionysus/Osiris. DHL and Dionysus offered to initiate me into their mysteries, and I accepted. What happened next is beyond the power of words to describe.
Then I woke from the vision; knowing it was more than “just a vision,” because I felt fundamentally changed, fundamentally altered in a positive way. I now felt the presence of both DHL and the innumerable Gods. God is Being, but God is not a Being, but Being as Such. It has emanated countless beings, including gods and angels. The machine world we live in is the result of exoteric and oversimplified formulations of Semitic religions. God has been dying a long-death from the disease called monotheism.
The news that he had died reaffirmed Jessie [Chambers] in her conviction that Lawrence had been a “living manifestation of God”[.]23
Who showed us a way to live up to our human potential, as he did. May peace be upon him!
Brewster, Earl, and Achsah Brewster. D. H. Lawrence: Reminiscences and Correspondence. London: Martin Secker, 1934.
Carswell, Catherine. The Savage Pilgrimage. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000.
Carter, Frederick. D. H. Lawrence and the Body Mystical. New York: Haskell House Publishers, 1972.
Ellis, David. D. H. Lawrence: Dying Game. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011.
Huxley, Aldous. Complete Essays of Aldous Huxley. Edited by Robert S. Baker and James Sexton. Vol. IV, 1936–1938. Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2001.
Luhan, Mabel Dodge. Lorenzo in Taos. Santa Fe: Sunstone Press, 2007.
Merrild, Knud. A Poet and Two Painters. Read Books, 2007.
Miller, Henry. The World of Lawrence. Edited by Evelyn J. Hinz and John J. Teunissen. Santa Barbara: Capra Press, 1980.
Nietzsche, Friedrich. Human, All Too Human. Translated by R. J. Hollingdale. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996.
Nin, Anaïs. D. H. Lawrence: An Unprofessional Study. Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Press, 1994.
Weingarten, Roger, and Richard Higgerson, eds. Poets of the New Century. Boston: David R. Godine, 2001.
Friedrich Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 97.
Henry Miller, The World of Lawrence, ed. Evelyn J. Hinz and John J. Teunissen (Santa Barbara: Capra Press, 1980), 251.
Roger Weingarten and Richard Higgerson, eds., Poets of the New Century (Boston: David R. Godine, 2001), 164–65.
Knud Merrild, A Poet and Two Painters (Read Books, 2007), 30.
Earl Brewster and Achsah Brewster, D. H. Lawrence: Reminiscences and Correspondence (London: Martin Secker, 1934), 172.
Anaïs Nin, D. H. Lawrence: An Unprofessional Study (Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Press, 1994), 10.
Miller, The World of Lawrence, 57.
Merrild, A Poet and Two Painters, 300.
Frederick Carter, D. H. Lawrence and the Body Mystical (New York: Haskell House Publishers, 1972), 59.
Merrild, A Poet and Two Painters, 327.
Catherine Carswell, The Savage Pilgrimage (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 30.
David Ellis, D. H. Lawrence: Dying Game (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 123.
Aldous Huxley, Complete Essays of Aldous Huxley, ed. Robert S. Baker and James Sexton, vol. IV, 1936–1938 (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2001), 76.
Miller, The World of Lawrence, 200.
Ellis, D. H. Lawrence: Dying Game, 338.
Mabel Dodge Luhan, Lorenzo in Taos (Santa Fe: Sunstone Press, 2007), 133.
Miller, The World of Lawrence, 248–50.
Brewster and Brewster, D. H. Lawrence: Reminiscences and Correspondence, 2.
Miller, The World of Lawrence, 172.
Brewster and Brewster, D. H. Lawrence: Reminiscences and Correspondence, 227.
Miller, The World of Lawrence, 30–31.
Brewster and Brewster, D. H. Lawrence: Reminiscences and Correspondence, 237.
Ellis, D. H. Lawrence: Dying Game, 533.