Oscar Wilde Quotes
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Thirty-five is a very attractive age. London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained thirty-five for years.
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If you are going to tell people the truth, you had better make them laugh or they will kill you.
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It can never be necessary to do what is not honourable.
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Prayer must never be answered: if it is, it ceases to be prayer and becomes correspondence.
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It is what we fear that happens to us.
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The world has grown suspicious of anything that looks like a happily married life.
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While we look to the dramatist to give romance to realism, we ask of the actor to give realism to romance.
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I drink to separate my body from my soul.
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I never saw so many well-dressed, well-fed, business-looking Bohemians in my life.
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The brotherhood of man is not a mere poet’s dream: it is a most depressing and humiliating reality.
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Reforms in Russia are very tragic, but they always end in a farce.
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Life is the art of being well deceived, and to succeed, it must be habitual and uninterrupted.
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Other people are quite dreadful. The only possible society is oneself.
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For life is terribly deficient in form. Its catastrophes happen in the wrong way and to the wrong people. There is a grotesque horror about its comedies, and its tragedies seem to culminate in farce.
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Pray don't talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing. Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me quite nervous.
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Conformity is the last refuge of the unimaginitive.
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Those who are faithful know only the trivial side of love: it is the faithless who know love's tragedies.
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Love! What is love? It's nothing. It's just a word. It doesn't exist. Only pleasure is important.
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Newspapers. . . give us the bald, sordid, disgusting facts of life. They chronicle, with degrading avidity, the sins of the second-rate, and with the conscientiousness of the illiterate give us accurate and prosaic details. . .
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You know I have loved him always. But we are very poor. Who, being loved, is poor? Oh, no one. I hate my riches. They are a burden...