Page 56 - lady-chatterlys-lover

a god or a Bolshevist...for they are the same thing: they’re
both too good to be true.’
Out of the disapproving silence came Berry’s anxious
question:
’You do believe in love then, Tommy, don’t you?’
’You lovely lad!’ said Tommy. ‘No, my cherub, nine times
out of ten, no! Love’s another of those half-witted perfor-
mances today. Fellows with swaying waists fucking little
jazz girls with small boy buttocks, like two collar studs! Do
you mean that sort of love? Or the joint-property, make-a-
success-of-it, My-husband-my-wife sort of love? No, my
fine fellow, I don’t believe in it at all!’
’But you do believe in something?’
’Me? Oh, intellectually I believe in having a good heart,
a chirpy penis, a lively intelligence, and the courage to say
‘’shit!’’ in front of a lady.’
’Well, you’ve got them all,’ said Berry.
Tommy Dukes roared with laughter. ‘You angel boy! If
only I had! If only I had! No; my heart’s as numb as a potato,
my penis droops and never lifts its head up, I dare rather
cut him clean off than say ‘’shit!’’ in front of my mother or
my aunt...they are real ladies, mind you; and I’m not really
intelligent, I’m only a ‘’mental-lifer’’. It would be wonder-
ful to be intelligent: then one would be alive in all the parts
mentioned and unmentionable. The penis rouses his head
and says: How do you do?—to any really intelligent person.
Renoir said he painted his pictures with his penis...he did
too, lovely pictures! I wish I did something with mine. God!
when one can only talk! Another torture added to Hades!