Readers in Love

Porque faz anos que D. H. Lawence nasceu, a 11 de Setembro de 1885, tenho desculpa para trazer aqui Literatura. Ou o fim da Literatura? Alguém escreveu alguma coisa interessante depois do Modernismo britânico? Concedo que talvez um ou outro. Não morreu, mas ficou atordoada e não é para menos. Woolf, Joyce, Conrad etc viraram-na do avesso. Mas quem faz anos é o Lawrence.E em jeito de parabéns aqui ficam três pequenos, ou melhor, curtos, diálogos de Women in Love (1916).

O centro da vida

- Wherein does life centre, for you?
- I don't know--that's what I want somebody to tell me. As far as I can
make out, it doesn't centre at all. It is artificially held TOGETHER by
the social mechanism.
Birkin pondered as if he would crack something.
- I know, he said, it just doesn't centre. The old ideals are dead as
nails-nothing there. It seems to me there remains only this perfect
union with a woman--sort of ultimate marriage--and there isn't anything
else.
-And you mean if there isn't the woman, there's nothing? said Gerald.
- Pretty well that--seeing there's no God.

O Amor

'But,' she said, 'you believe in individual love, even if you don't believe in loving humanity-?'
'I don't believe in love at all--that is, any more than I believe inhate, or in grief. Love is one of the emotions like all the others--andso it is all right whilst you feel it But I can't see how it becomes anabsolute. It is just part of human relationships, no more. And it isonly part of ANY human relationship. And why one should be requiredALWAYS to feel it, any more than one always feels sorrow or distantjoy, I cannot conceive. Love isn't a desideratum--it is an emotion youfeel or you don't feel, according to circumstance.'
'Then why do you care about people at all?' she asked, 'if you don'tbelieve in love? Why do you bother about humanity?'
'Why do I? Because I can't get away from it.'
'Because you love it,' she persisted.
It irritated him.
'If I do love it,' he said, 'it is my disease.'
'But it is a disease you don't want to be cured of,' she said, withsome cold sneering.
He was silent now, feeling she wanted to insult him.

A posse

`What do you think of Rupert Birkin?' she asked, a little reluctantly, of Gudrun. She did not want to discuss him.
`What do I think of Rupert Birkin?' repeated Gudrun. `I think he's attractive -- decidedly attractive. What I can't stand about him is his way with other people -- his way of treating any little fool as if she were his greatest consideration. One feels so awfully sold, oneself.'
`Why does he do it?' said Ursula.
`Because he has no real critical faculty -- of people, at all events,' said Gudrun. `I tell you, he treats any little fool as he treats me or you -- and it's such an insult.'
`Oh, it is,' said Ursula. `One must discriminate.'
`One must discriminate,' repeated Gudrun. `But he's a wonderful chap, in other respects -- a marvellous personality. But you can't trust him.'