Quotes about Humanity

Whatever the reason is, I am happiest when connecting with the human experience. It lets me know that I'm not alone in this world.

It is only our humanity that can deliver us from the brutality of our achievements.

Pity is cruel. Pity destroys.

We praise heroes as though they are rare, and yet we are always ready to blame another man for lack of heroism.

There I go again. I want. I don't want. If I could love You, I could love Henry. God was made man. He was Henry with his astigmatism, Richard with his spots, not only Maurice. If I could love a leper's sores, couldn't I love the boringness of Henry? But I'd turn from the leper if he were here, I suppose, as I shut myself away from Henry. I want the dramatic always. I imagine I'm ready for the pain of your nails... Dear God, I'm no use. I'm still the same bitch and fake. Clear me out of the way.

Writing is a form of therapy… Sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, the melancholia, the panic fear which is inherent in the human situation

he forgot for the while what experience had taught him-that no human being can really understand another, and no one can arrange another's happiness.

You think you are so bad,' she said, 'but it was only because you couldn't bear the pain. But they can bear pain - other people's pain - endlessly. They are the people who don't care.

Christ had died for this man too: how could he pretend with his pride and lust and cowardice to be any more worthy of that death than the half-caste

Why, he wondered, swerving the car to avoid a dead pye-dog, do I love this place so much? Is it because here human nature hasn't had time to disguise itself? Nobody here could ever talk about a heaven on earth. Heaven remained rigidly in its proper place on the other side of death, and on this side flourished the injustices, the cruelties, the meanness that elsewhere people so cleverly hushed up.

It had been an article of my creed. The human condition being what it was, let them fight, let them love, let them murder, I would not be involved. My fellow journalists called themselves correspondents; I preferred the title of reporter. I wrote what I saw. I took no action—even an opinion is a kind of action.

Oh yes, people always, everywhere, loved their enemies. It was their friends they preserved for pain and vacuity.