Humanity is a huge aggregate lie, and a huge lie is less than a small truth. Humanity is less, far less than the individual because the individual may sometimes be capable of truth, and humanity is a tree of lies. And they say that love is the greatest thing, they persist in saying this, the foul liars, and just look at what they do (... It's a lie to say that love is greatest, what people want is hate - hate, and nothing but hate. And in the name of righteousness and love they get it... If we want hate, let us have it - death, murder, torture, violent destruction- let us have it: but not in the name of love.

— D.H. Lawrence

I am not a mechanism, an assembly of various sections. And it is not because the mechanism is working wrongly, that I am ill. I am ill because of wounds to the soul, to the deep emotional self, and the wounds to the soul take a long, long time, only time can help and patience, and a certain difficult repentance long difficult repentance, realization of life’s mistake, and the freeing oneself from the endless repetition of the mistake which mankind at large has chosen to sanctify.

— D.H. Lawrence

I am turned into a dream. I feel nothing, or I don't know what I feel. Yet it seems to me I am happy.

— D.H. Lawrence

I like to write when I feel spiteful. It is like having a good sneeze.", November 1913)

— D.H. Lawrence

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself

— D.H. Lawrence

In every living thing there is the desire for love.

— D.H. Lawrence

I only want one thing of men, and that is, that they should leave me alone.

— D.H. Lawrence

I should feel the air move against me, and feel the things I touched, instead of having only to look at them. I'm sure life is all wrong because it has become much too visual - we can neither hear nor feel nor understand, we can only see. Furthermore, I'm sure that is entirely wrong.

— D.H. Lawrence

It is a fine thing to establish one's own religion in one's heart, not to be dependent on tradition and second-hand ideals. Life will seem to you, later, not a lesser, but a greater thing.

— D.H. Lawrence

It's a curious thing that the mental life seems to flourish with its roots in spite, ineffable and fathomless spite. Always has been so! Look at Socrates, in Plato, and his bunch round him! The sheer spite of it all, just sheer joy in pulling somebody else to bits... Protagoras, or whoever it was! And Alcibiades, and all the other little disciple dogs joining in the fray! I must say it makes one prefer Buddha, quietly sitting under a bootee, or Jesus, telling his disciples little Sunday stories, peacefully, and without any mental fireworks. No, there's something wrong with the mental life, radically. It's rooted in spite and envy, envy and spite. Ye shall know the tree by its fruit.

— D.H. Lawrence