Oscar Wilde Quotes
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When one is in town one amuses oneself. When one is in the country one amuses other people. It is excessively boring.
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There are moments when art attains almost to the dignity of manual labor.
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Veni vidi veni iterum! I came, I saw, I came again!
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Women are a decorative sex. They never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly.
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Every thing to be true must become a religion.
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Never buy a thing you don't want merely because it is dear.
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We quaff the cup of life with eager haste without draining it, instead of which it only overflows the brim - objects press around us, filling the mind with the throng of desires that wait upon them, so that we have no room for the thoughts of death.
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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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A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say at the age of eighteen.
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You are young. No hungry generations tread you down.... The past does not mock you with the ruins of a beauty the secret of whose creation you have lost...
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Lord Illingworth: Discontent is the first step in the progress of a man or a nation.
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What you really are is a Bunburyist. I was quite right in saying you were a Bunburyist. You are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know.
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The weather is entrancing, but in my heart there is no sun.
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However, I think anything is better than high intellectual pressure. That is the most unbecoming thing there is. It makes the noses of the young girls so particularly large.
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He knew the precise psychological moment when to say nothing.
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Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to someone who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer's day.
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I never change, except in my affections.
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Sometime you will find, even as I have found, that there is no such thing as romantic experience; there are romantic memories, and there is the desire of romance- that is all. Our most fiery moments of ecstasy are merely shadows of what somewhere else we have felt, or of what we long someday to feel.
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Prism! Where is that baby?
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I have never killed anyone, but I have often read about some guy getting his ass taken out with great pleasure.
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In a very ugly and sensible age, the arts borrow, not from life, but from each other.
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The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid.
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The beautiful, passionate, ruined South, the land of magnolias and music, of roses and romance . . . living on the memory of crushing defeats.
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Tell me, when you are alone with him Max Beerbohm Sphinx, does he take off his face and reveal his mask?