Quotes from D. H. Lawrence

It's not art for art's sake, it's art for my sake.

Money is our madness, our vast collective madness.

Oh literature, oh the glorious Art, how it preys upon the marrow in our bones. It scoops the stuffing out of us, and chucks us aside. Alas!

I can't do with mountains at close quarters - they are always in the way, and they are so stupid, never moving and never doing anything but obtrude themselves.

Beauty is a mystery. You can neither eat it nor make flannel out of it.

When passion is dead, or absent, then the magnificent throb of beauty is incomprehensible and even a little despicable.

Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically.

The business of art is to reveal the relation between man and his environment.

I hold that the parentheses are by far the most important parts of a non-business letter.

I would rather sit still in a state of peace on a stone than ride in the motor-car of a multi-millionaire and feel the peacelessness of the multi-millionaire poisoning me.

One's action ought to come out of an achieved stillness: not to be a mere rushing on.

The essential American soul is hard, isolate, stoic, and a killer.

No creature is fully itself till it is, like the dandelion, opened in the bloom of pure relationship to the sun, the entire living cosmos.

The cosmos is a vast living body, of which we are still parts. The sun is a great heart whose tremors run through our smallest veins. The moon is a great nerve center from which we quiver forever. Who knows the power that Saturn has over us, or Venus? But it is a vital power, rippling exquisitely through us all the time.

How beastly the bourgeois isespecially the male of the species.

Unless one decorates one's house for oneself alone, best leave it bare, for other people are walleyed.

I believe especially in being warm-hearted in love, in fucking with a warm heart. I believe if men could fuck with warm hearts, and the women take it warm-heartedly, everything would come all right. It's all this cold-hearted fucking that is death and idiocy.

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

I got the blues thinking of the future, so I left off and made some marmalade. It's amazing how it cheers one up to shred oranges and scrub the floor.

The glamorOf childish days is upon me, my manhood is castDown in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

For he seemed to me again like a king,Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,Now due to be crowned again.

One doesn't know, till one is a bit at odds with the world, how much one's friends who believe in one rather generously, mean to one.

Build then the ship of death, for you must take the longest journey, to oblivion.

It is no good casting out devils. They belong to us, we must accept them and be at peace with them.