Oscar Wilde Quotes
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But what of life whose bitter hungry sea Flows at our heels, and gloom of sunless night Covers the days which never more return? Ambition, love and all the thoughts that burn We lose too soon, and only find delight In withered husks of some dead memory.
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Yet each man kills the thing he loves from all let this be heard some does it with a bitter look some with a flattering word the coward does it with a kiss the brave man with the sword.
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And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine Burned like the ruby fire set In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine, Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate, Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.
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The only link between Literature and the Drama left to us in England at the present moment is the bill of the play.
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You are Beautiful when you are happy.
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Meredith is a prose Browning, and so is Browning. He used poetry as a medium for writing in prose.
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He was always late on principle, his principle being that punctuality is the thief of time.
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A map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at, for it leaves out the one country at which Humanity is always landing.
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Learned conversation is either the affectation of the ignorant or the profession of the mentally unemployed.
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As I lounged in the Park, or strolled down Piccadilly, I used to look at everyone who passed me, and wonder, with mad curiosity, what sort of lives they led. some of them fascinated me. Others filled me with terror.
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Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account.
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To have friends, you know, one need only be good-natured; but when a man has no enemy left there must be something mean about him.
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Mothers, of course, are all right. They pay a chap's bills and don't bother him. But fathers bother a chap and never pay his bills.
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I have met a lot of hardboiled eggs in my time, but you're twenty minutes.
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Whenever cannibals are on the brink of starvation, Heaven, in its infinite mercy, sends them a fat missionary.
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This ghastly state of things is what you call Bunburying, I suppose? Algernon. Yes, and a perfectly wonderful Bunbury it is. The most wonderful Bunbury I have ever had in my life. Jack. Well, you've no right whatsoever to Bunbury here. Algernon. That is absurd. One has a right to Bunbury anywhere one chooses. Every serious Bunburyist knows that.
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Would you be in any way offended if I said that you seem to me to be in every way the visible personification of absolute perfection?
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It is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one should read and what one shouldn't. More than half of modern culture depends on what one shouldn't read.
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There was so much in you that charmed me that I felt I must tell you something about yourself. I thought how tragic it would be if you were wasted.
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In old days men had the rack. Now they have the press.
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What art seeks to disturb is monotony of type, slavery of custom, tyranny of habit, and the reduction of man to the level of a machine.
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Men become old, but they never become good.
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It is only the sacred things that are worth touching.
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He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends.