Women in Love (1969)
Gerald Crich: And who is "Gudrun"?
Gudrun Brangwen: In a Norse myth, Gudrun was a sinner who murdered her husband.
Gerald Crich: And will you live up to that?
Gudrun Brangwen: Which would you prefer me to live up to, Mr Crich? The sinner or the murderer?
Gerald Crich: Do you know what it is to suffer when you're with a woman? lt tears you like a silk. And each bit and stroke burns hot. Of course, l wouldn't not have had it. lt was a complete experience. She's a wonderful woman, but l hate her somewhere. lt's curious.
Rupert Birkin: You've had your experience now. Why work on an old wound?
Gerald Crich: Because there's nothing else.
Rupert Birkin: l've loved you, as well as Gudrun. Don't forget.
Gerald Crich: Have you? Or do you think you have?
Rupert Birkin: Gudrun Brangwen. Gerald Crich. Tibby and Laura Lupton. Ursula Brangwen. Rupert Birkin. What peculiar names we all have. Do you think we've been singled out, chosen for some extraordinary moment in life, or are we all cursed with the mark of Cain?
Gerald Crich: Rupert, what is it you really want?
Rupert Birkin: I want to sit with my beloved in a field, with daisies growing all around us.
Rupert Birkin: I do believe in a permanent union between a man and a woman. Chopping about is merely an exhaustive process. But a permanent relationship between a man and a woman isn't the last word. lt certainly isn't.
Gerald Crich: Quite.
Rupert Birkin: We've got to take down this love-and-marriage ideal from its pedestal. We want something broader. I believe in the additional perfect relationship, between man and man. Additional to marriage.
Gerald Crich: Well, I don't see how they can be the same.
Rupert Birkin: No, not the same, but equally important... equally creative, equally - sacred, if you like.
Gerald Crich: I know you believe something like that. Only, I can't feel it, do you see?
Gudrun Brangwen: [having an orgasm] Oh, my God, Gerald! Shall I die?
Gudrun Brangwen: You don't think one needs the experience of having been married?
Ursula Brangwen: Gudrun, do you really think it need be an experience?
Gudrun Brangwen: It's bound to be possibly undesirable, but still an experience of some sort.
Ursula Brangwen: Not really. More likely to be the end of experience.
Gudrun Brangwen: Yes, of course, there is that to consider.
Gudrun Brangwen: Don't you find yourself getting bored with everything? Everything fails to materialise. Nothing materialises. Everything withers in the bud. Everything.
Ursula Brangwen: Frightening. Do you hope to get anywhere by just marrying?
Gudrun Brangwen: Well, it seems the inevitable next step. But you see... it's just impossible. The man makes it impossible.
Hermione Roddice: Dreadful. All this strife and dissension. If we could only realise that... in the spirit, we are all one, all equal in the spirit. All brothers there. The rest wouldn't matter. There'd be no more of this carping, envy... all this struggle for power, which destroys... only destroys.
Rupert Birkin: It's just the opposite, Hermione, just the contrary. The minute you begin to compare, one man becomes far better than another. All the inequality in the world that you can imagine is there by nature. I want every man to have his fair share of the world's goods... so I can be rid of his importunity, so that I can say to him: 'Now you've got what you want, your fair share of the world's gear. Now, you mind yourself, and don't obstruct me.'
Rupert Birkin: I abhor humanity, I wish it was swept away. It could go, and there would be no loss if every human being perished tomorrow.
Ursula Brangwen: So, you want everybody in the world destroyed?
Rupert Birkin: Yes, absolutely. Don't you yourself think it's a wonderful, clear idea? A world empty of people... just uninterrupted grass and a rabbit sitting there?
Ursula Brangwen: You don't seem to see much love in humanity. What about individual love?
Rupert Birkin: I don't believe in love any more than I believe in hate or grief. Love is an emotion. You feel or don't feel, according to your circumstances.
Ursula Brangwen: If you don't believe in love, what do you believe in? Just in the end of the world and rabbits?
Rupert Birkin: The point about L-O-V-E is that we hate the word, because we've vulgarised it. lt should be taboo, forbidden from utterance for many years... till we've found a new and better idea.
Gudrun Brangwen: Well, I was born here and I'll die here until I fly away.
Gerald Crich: There's one thing about our family, you know. Once anything goes wrong, it can never be put right. Not with us.
Rupert Birkin: I would like to die from our kind of life. Be born again... through a love that is like sleep. With new air around one, that no one's ever breathed before.
Ursula Brangwen: Say you love me. Say, "my love," to me.
Rupert Birkin: Oh, I love you right enough. I-I just want it to be something else.
Ursula Brangwen: Why? Why? Why isn't it enough?
Rupert Birkin: Because we can go one better.
Ursula Brangwen: We can't. We can only say we love each other. Say "my love" to me. Say it. Say it!
Rupert Birkin: Yes, my love. Yes, my love. Let love be enough, then. I love you, then. I'm bored by the rest.
Hermione Roddice: Perhaps it's better to die than to live mechanically... a life that's repetition of repetition.
Gerald Crich: By God, I've just reached the conclusion that nothing matters in the world except somebody to take the edge off one's being alone. The right somebody.
Rupert Birkin: Meaning the right woman, I suppose?
Gerald Crich: Yes, of course. Failing that, an amusing man.
Gerald Crich: You know, I always believe in love, in true love. But where do you find it nowadays?
Rupert Birkin: I don't know. Life has all kinds of things. There isn't only one road.
Gerald Crich: I don't care how it is with me... as long as I feel... that I've lived. I don't care how it is, as long as I feel that.
Ursula Brangwen: Yes! Yes, I am a fool. And thank God for it! I'm too big a fool to swallow your cleverness. You go to your women, your spiritual brides. Or aren't they common - fleshy enough? No. No, you're not satisfied, are you? You'd marry me for your everyday use... and keep your spiritual brides for tripping off into the beyond. Oh, yes! Yes. I know your dirty little game. You think I'm not as spiritual as Hermione. Well, Hermione is a fishwife. A fishwife! So you go to her. That's what I say. Go to her. In her soul, she's as common as dirt. And all the rest is just pretence!
Gerald Crich: It's something you don't reckon with until it's there. And then you realise it was there all the time. It was always there. The possibility of this... incurable illness... this creeping death. There's nothing left. Do you understand what l mean? You seem to be reaching at the void, then you realise that you're a void yourself.
Rupert Birkin: If all women are either wives or mistresses, then Gudrun is a mistress.
Ursula Brangwen: And all men are either lovers or husbands. Why not both?
Rupert Birkin: No. No, the one excludes the other.
Ursula Brangwen: Then I want another.
Rupert Birkin: No you don't.
Ursula Brangwen: Oh, yes I do.
Rupert Birkin: It almost breaks my heart. My beloved country. It had something to express, even when it made this chair. Now all we can do is to fish amongst rubbish heaps... for remnants of the old expression. There's no production in us anymore... just sordid and foul mechanicalness.
Ursula Brangwen: I hate your past. I'm sick of it.
Rupert Birkin: Not as sick as I am of the accursed present.
Ursula Brangwen: Well, I don't want the past to take its place. I don't want old things.
Rupert Birkin: The truth is, we don't want things at all. The thought of a house and furniture of my own is hateful to me.
Loerke: What do you do?
Gudrun Brangwen: I'm a sculptress.
Loerke: And what do you sculpt?
Gudrun Brangwen: Animals, birds.
Loerke: Knick-knacks for the rich? Lavarato. Che lavoro. Che lavoro. Huh? You're not an artist. You've never worked as the world works.
Gudrun Brangwen: Yes, l have and l do.
Loerke: Have you known what it was to lie in bed for three days because you had nothing to eat... in a room with three other families and a toilet in the middle... a big pan with a plank on it... and your father making love - love - to a street whore in the corner?
Gudrun Brangwen: The whole point of a lover... is to reach a complete understanding of sensual knowledge.
Ursula Brangwen: [Driving up to a posh estate] Oh, so this is Hermione's country cottage.
Gudrun Brangwen: Well, there's one reason that Rupert's attracted to her.
Ursula Brangwen: Oh, do you think so? I don't think that.
Gudrun Brangwen: Lovers have sold their souls for far less, my dear.
Gudrun Brangwen: How fearfully good. How frightfully nice of you.
Rupert Birkin: The proper way to eat a fig in society, is to split it in four, holding it by the stump and open it, so that it is a glittering, rosy, moist, honeyed, heavy petalled, four petalled, flower. Then, you throw away the skin, after you have taken off the blossom with your lips. But, the vulgar way, is just to put your mouth to the crack and take out the flesh in one bite. The fig is a very secretive fruit. The Italians vulgarly say it stands for the female part - the fig fruit. The fissure. The yoni. The wonderful, moist conductivity towards the center. Involved. Inturned, One small way of access only, and this close-curtained from the light. Sap that smells strange on your fingers, that even goats won't taste it. And when the fig has kept her secret long enough, so it explodes, and you see through the fissure, the scarlet, and the fig is finished. The year is over. That's how the fig dies, showing her crimson through the purple slit. Like a wound, the exposure of her secret, on the open day. Like a prostitute, the bursten fig, making a show of her secret.
Rupert Birkin: I'm sorry if I spoiled your dance. It was an act of pure spontaneity.
Hermione Roddice: My ass!
Rupert Birkin: You can't bear anything to be spontaneous, can you? Cause then its no longer in your power. You must clutch things and have them in your power. And why? Because you haven't got any real body, any dark, sensual body of life! All you've got is your will and your lust for power!
Hermione Roddice: How can you not think me sensual?
Rupert Birkin: All you want is pornography! Looking at yourself in mirrors. Watching your naked animal actions in mirrors.
Gerald Crich: Why are you behaving in this - impossible, ridiculous fashion?
Gudrun Brangwen: You - make me behave like this.
Gerald Crich: Me? How?
Gudrun Brangwen: Don't be angry with me.
Gerald Crich: No, I'm not angry with you. I'm in love with you.
Gudrun Brangwen: Yes. Well, that's one way of putting it.
Gudrun Brangwen: How are your thighs?
Palmer: My thighs?
Gudrun Brangwen: How are they? Are they strong? Because I want to drown in flesh. Hot, physical, naked, flesh.
Rupert Birkin: There is a golden light in you, which I wish that you would give me.
Ursula Brangwen: I always think I'm going to be loved - and then I'm let down.
Ursula Brangwen: We must live somewhere!
Rupert Birkin: No, not somewhere! Anywhere! Not a definite place. Just you and me and a few others. Where we needn't wear any clothes! Where we can be ourselves without any bother.
Rupert Birkin: I don't want love. I don't want to know you. I want to be gone out of myself and I want you to be lost in yourself.
Ursula Brangwen: Rupert, whatever did you mean? You, me and a few other people?You've got me!
Rupert Birkin: Well, I always imagined our being happy with a few other people.
Ursula Brangwen: Why should we be?
Rupert Birkin: I don't know? One has a hankering after a sort of further fellowship.
Ursula Brangwen: Why? Why should you hanker after other people? Why should you need them?
Rupert Birkin: Don't you need them? Or, does it just end with us two then?
Ursula Brangwen: Yes. What more do you want?
Ursula Brangwen: I think we've all gone mad!
Rupert Birkin: Pity we aren't madder!
Rupert Birkin: Oh, you beautiful doll, you great big beautiful doll, let me put my arms around me...
Rupert Birkin: Oh, we shouldn't talk when we're tired and wretched.
Ursula Brangwen: You always seem to think you can - force the flowers to come out. People must love us because they love us. You can't make them.
Ursula Brangwen: Oh, say you love me. Oh, please. Please. Say you love me. Say it. Say it! Oh, say it. Oh, please. Oh, no. Oh. Oh! Oh! Say it. I do love you. I do. Oh. Oh.
Rupert Birkin: Must it be like this?
Rupert Birkin: Must one - just, go on as if one's alone in the world?
Ursula Brangwen: You've got me. Why should you need others?
Gudrun Brangwen: What do I care?
Gerald Crich: I care! You see, they're my cattle.
Gudrun Brangwen: How are they yours? You haven't swallowed them. Give me one of them - now!
Rupert Birkin: Women - there's a lust for passion and a greed for self-importance in love.
Gudrun Brangwen: What did Rupert say? Do you know?
Ursula Brangwen: He said it would be most awfully jolly. Well, don't you think it would be?
Gudrun Brangwen: I think it might be awfully jolly, as you say.
Ursula Brangwen: Do you love me?
Rupert Birkin: Far too much. I couldn't bear this cold, eternal place without you.
Ursula Brangwen: Oh, do you hate it then?
Rupert Birkin: If you weren't here, it would kill the very quick of my life.
Ursula Brangwen: It's good that we are warm and together.
Ursula Brangwen: You love it! Do you think I don't know the foulness of your sex life and hers. Well, I do. And its that foulness that you want!
Gudrun Brangwen: Oh, you believe art should serve industry?
Loerke: Art. Art should interpret industry... As art once interpreted religion.
Ursula Brangwen: You take back your rings and buy yourself a female elsewhere! I'm sure there'll be plenty of women who'll be quite willing to share in your spiritual mess!
Gudrun Brangwen: Try to love me a little more and want me a little less.
Ursula Brangwen: Gudrun might rush into marriage like we have. Wouldn't that be nice?
Rupert Birkin: Rubbish! Gudrun is a born mistress, just as Gerald is a born lover.
Gudrun Brangwen: You're so insistent. You have so little grace. So little finesse. You are crude. You break me - and waste me - and it is horrible to me.
Gerald Crich: You don't do sports Herr Loerke?
Loerke: Not sports. No. Only games.
Gerald Crich: And what sort of games might they be?
Loerke: Only ones which I enjoy.
Gerald Crich: Yes, but, what sort of games?
Loerke: Secret games. Initiation games. Full of esoteric understanding and fearful, sensual secrets.
Rupert Birkin: Its the fact you want to emphasize, not the impression. And what's the fact: red little spiky stigmas of the female flower, dangling yellow male catkin, yellow pollen flying from one to the other.
Hermione Roddice: Immortality of the soul? More appropriate for an execution, I should have thought, than for a wedding.
Hermione Roddice: What are you doing?
Rupert Birkin: Catkins.
Hermione Roddice: Really? What do you learn about them?
Rupert Birkin: Well from these little red bits, the nuts come - if they receive pollen from these long danglers.
Hermione Roddice: Little red flames. Little red flames, are the beautiful! I think they're so beautiful.
Rupert Birkin: Did you never notice them before?
Hermione Roddice: No. Never before.
Rupert Birkin: Well, now you'll always see them.
Hermione Roddice: Now I shall always see them. Thank you, so much, for showing me. I think they're so beautiful. Little red flames.
Gudrun Brangwen: Fancy her barging into your classroom like that. What a liberty!
Ursula Brangwen: Oh, Hermione loves to dominate everyone. She'd like to dominate us, I think.
Gudrun Brangwen: So, Gerald's in charge of the mines now.
Ursula Brangwen: Making all kinds of latest improvements. They hate him for it. He takes them all by the scruff of the neck and fairly flings them along. He'll have to die soon when he's made all the possible improvements and there's nothing more to improve. He's got go, anyhow.
Gudrun Brangwen: Oh, certainly, he's got go. The unfortunate thing is where does his go - go to?
Gudrun Brangwen: Cleopatra must have been an artist. She reaped the essential from a man. She harvested the ultimate sensation and then - she threw away the husk.
Loerke: One must - not repeat. One must - find only new ways.
Gudrun Brangwen: The train is going into a tunnel.
Gudrun Brangwen: Don't you think the understanding of a rat is more interesting than the understanding of a fool?
Gerald Crich: A fool?
Gudrun Brangwen: A fool! A conceited fool...
Gerald Crich: Wouldn't I rather be a fool than explore those sewers with a rat?
Loerke: You're an extraordinary woman! Why should you follow the ordinary course? Huh?
Gerald Crich: I didn't want it anyway. I'm tired. I want to sleep.
Rupert Birkin: I did not want it to be like this. I didn't want it to be like this.
Ursula Brangwen: [Last lines] I don't believe it. Its an obstinance here. A theory. A perversity. You can't have two kinds of love. Why should you?
Rupert Birkin: It seems as if I can't. Yet I wanted it.
Ursula Brangwen: You can't have it, because its impossible.
Rupert Birkin: I don't believe that.