David Herbert Lawrence

David Herbert Lawrence

David Herbert Lawrence (11 September 1885 – 2 March 1930) was an English novelist, poet, playwright, essayist, literary critic and painter. His collected works represent, among other things, an extended reflection upon the dehumanising effects of modernity and industrialisation.

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One could laugh at the world better if it didn't mix tender kindliness with its brutality.

But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions.

One can no longer live with people: it is too hideous and nauseating. Owners and owned they are like the two sides of a ghastly disease.

The proper study of mankind is man in his relation to his deity.

The world of men is dreaming it has gone mad in its sleep and a snake is strangling it but it can't wake up.

So long as you don't feel life's paltry and a miserable business the rest doesn't matter happiness or unhappiness.

Having achieved and accomplished love... man... has become himself his tale is told.

The fairest thing in nature a flower still has its roots in earth and manure.

The soul is a very perfect judge of her own motions if your mind doesn't dictate to her.

Since obscenity is the truth of our passion today it is the only stuff of art - or almost the only stuff.

Loud peace propaganda makes war seem imminent.

For man as for flower and beast and bird the supreme triumph is to be most vividly most perfectly alive.

One must learn to love and go through a good deal of suffering to get to it... and the journey is always towards the other soul.

I like to write when I feel spiteful. It is like having a good sneeze.

Myth is an attempt to narrate a whole human experience of which the purpose is too deep going too deep in the blood and soul for mental explanation or description.

I believe that a man is converted when first he hears the low vast murmur of life of human life troubling his hitherto unconscious self.

The human soul needs actual beauty more than bread.

It is so much more difficult to live with one's body than with one's soul. One's body is so much more exacting: what it won't have it won't have and nothing can make bitter into sweet.

My God these folks don't know how to love - that's why they love so easily.

They say geniuses mostly have great mothers. They mostly have sad fates.

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