D. H. Lawrence
David Herbert Richards Lawrence (11 September 1885 – 2 March 1930) was an English novelist, poet, playwright, essayist, literary critic and painter who published as D. H. Lawrence. His collected works represent an extended reflection upon the dehumanising effects of modernity and industrialisation. In them, Lawrence confronts issues relating to emotional health and vitality, spontaneity, and instinct.

Lawrence's opinions earned him many enemies and he endured official persecution, censorship, and misrepresentation of his creative work throughout the second half of his life, much of which he spent in a voluntary exile he called his "savage pilgrimage." At the time of his death, his public reputation was that of a pornographer who had wasted his considerable talents.

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

Letter to Blanche Jennings, 15 April, 1908, Letters of D.H. Lawrence (1979), James T. Boulton, ed.

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

Letter to Blanche Jennings, May 8, 1909, The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, ed. James T. Boulton, Vol. 1 (1979), pp. 127-8.

Tragedy ought really to be a great kick at misery.

Letter to A W McLeod (6 October 1912)

Curse the blasted, jelly-boned swines, the slimy, the belly-wriggling invertebrates, the miserable sodding rutters, the flaming sods, the snivelling, dribbling, dithering, palsied, pulseless lot that make up England today. They've got the white of egg in their veins and their spunk is so watery it's a marvel they can breed.

Letter to Edward Garnett, expressing anger that his manuscript for Sons and Lovers was rejected by Heinemann (book publisher)|Heinemann (July 1912)

Mrs Morel always said the after-life would hold nothing in store for her husband: he rose from the lower world into purgatory, when he came home from pit, and passed into heaven in the Palmerston Arms.

Sons and Lovers - Edited out of the 1913 edition, restored in 1992

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!

Song of a Man who has Come Through (1917)

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

Women in Love (1920) Ch. 15

The nature of the infant is not just a new permutation-and-combination of elements contained in the natures of the parents. There is in the nature of the infant that which is utterly unknown in the natures of the parents.

Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious (1921)