Oscar Wilde Quotes
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All religious organizations exist to sell themselves to the rich.
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All that we know who lie in gaol - Is that the wall is strong; And that each day is like a year, A year whose days are long.
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I know. In fact, I am never wrong.
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Marco Polo had seen the inhabitants of Zipangu place rose-colored pearls in the mouths of the dead. A sea-monster had been enamoured of the pearl that the diver brought to King Perozes, and had slain the thief, and mourned for seven moons over its loss.
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I have grown tired of the articulate utterances of men and things. The Mystical in Art, the Mystical in Life, the Mystical in Nature this is what I am looking for. It is absolutely necessary for me to find it somewhere.
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An ordinary man away from home giving advice.
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So lets knock a couple back and make some noise.
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I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die. I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me. Why should it keep what I must lose? Every moment that passes takes something from me and gives something to it. Oh, if it were only the other way! If the picture could change, and I could be always what I am now! Why did you paint it? It will mock me some day—mock me horribly!
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Beautiful things like beautiful sins belong to the rich.
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Most people are boring and stupid.
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The proper aim is to try and reconstruct society on such a basis that poverty will be impossible.
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I don't want to go to heaven. None of my friends are there.
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I have found that all ugly things are made by those who strive to make something beautiful, and that all beautiful things are made by those who strive to make something useful.
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I must decline your invitation owing to a subsequent engagement.
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If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated.
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No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!
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It is only very ugly or very beautiful women who ever hide their faces.
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There is no Mystery so great as Misery.
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Shakespeare might have met Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in the white streets of London, or seen the serving-men of rival houses bite their thumbs at each other in the open square; but Hamlet came out of his soul, and Romeo out of his passion.
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A man whose desire is to be something separate from himself, to be a member of Parliament, or a successful grocer, or a prominent solicitor, or a judge, or something equally tedious, invariably succeeds in being what he wants to be. That is his punishment. Those who want a mask have to wear it.
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Look at the moon. How strange the moon seems! She is like a woman rising from a tomb. She is like a dead woman. One might fancy she was looking for dead things.
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When good Americans die, they go to Paris" "Where do bad Americans go?" "They stay in America.
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Romantic literature is in effect imaginative lying.
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Behind joy and laughter there may be a temperament, coarse, hard and callous. But behind sorrow there is always sorrow. Pain, unlike pleasure, wears no mask. ... For this reason there is no truth comparable to sorrow. There are times when sorrow seems to me to be the only truth. Other things may be illusions of the eye or the appetite, made to blind the one and cloy the other, but out of sorrow have the worlds been built, and at the birth of a child or a star there is pain.