Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs;

“Вся прелесть прошлого в том, что оно — прошлое.”

“Llevamos cadenas, aunque nadie las vea, y somos esclavos, aunque los hombres no…”

“You have crushed the grapes against your palate. Nothing has been hidden from y…”

“I don't want to go to heaven. None of my friends are there.”