Status Updates From O amante de lady Chatterley

Mellors is an idiot

Ok pardon dit is gwn verkrachting wtf

“On’y this time o’ th’ year ther’s bods ter set, an’ Ah’ve got ter be potterin’ abaht a good bit, seein’ after ’em, an’ a’. Winter time Ah ned ’ardly come nigh th’ pleece. But what wi’ spring, an’ Sir Clifford wantin’ ter start th’ pheasants . . . An’ your Ladyship’d non want me tinkerin’ around an’ about when she was ’ere, all th’ time.”
Ik versta er geen hol van.

“But a man! C’est une autre chose!”

And when one died, the last words to life would be: So that’s that!

Home was a place you lived in, love was a thing you didn’t fool yourself about, joy was a word you applied to a good Charleston, happiness was a term of hypocrisy used to bluff other people, a husband was a man you lived with and kept going in spirits. As for sex, the last of the great words, it was just a cocktail term for an excitement that bucked you up for a while, then left you more raggy than ever. Frayed!