The Invective of Masters
Curse the blasted, jelly-boned swines, the slimy, the belly-wriggling invertebrates, the miserable sodding rotters, the flaming sods, the snivelling, dribbling, dithering palsied pulse-less lot that make up England today....God, how I hate them! God curse them, funkers. God blast them, wishwash. Exterminate them, slime.Just read that out loud.
Primary source: letter to friend and editor Edward Garnett, upon the publisher's rejection of Sons and Lovers. Via: "The Deep End: A New Life of DH Lawrence," The New Yorker (Dec. 19, 2005). Review written by none less than n+1's blond novelist heartthrob, Benjamin Kunkel.