I fancy that the true explanation is this: It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style. They affect us just as vulgarity affects us. They give us an impression of sheer brute force, and we revolt against that. Sometimes, however, a tragedy that possesses artistic elements of beauty crosses our lives. If these elements of beauty are real, the whole thing simply appeals to our sense of dramatic effect. Suddenly we find that we are no longer the actors, but the spectators of the play. Or rather we are both. We watch ourselves, and the mere wonder of the spectacle enthralls us. In the present case, what is it that has really happened? Some one has killed herself for love of you. I wish that I had ever had such an experience. It would have made me in love with love for the rest of my life. The people who have adored me—there have not been very many, but there have been some—have always insisted on living on, long after I had ceased to care for them, or they to care for me. They have become stout and tedious, and when I meet them, they go in at once for reminiscences. That awful memory of woman! What a fearful thing it is! And what an utter intellectual stagnation it reveals! One should absorb the colour of life, but one should never remember its details. Details are always vulgar.
Oscar WildeMorality does not help me. I am a born antinomian. I am one of those who are made for exceptions, not for laws. But while I see that there is nothing wrong in what one does, I see that there is something wrong in what one becomes. It is well to have learned that.
Oscar WildeTags: morality
I don’t regret for a single moment having lived for pleasure.
I did it to the full, as one should do everything that one does. There was no pleasure I did not experience.
There is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain. One should sympathise with the colour, the beauty, the joy of life. The less said about life's sores the better.
Oscar WildeIn art, don't you see, there is no first person.
Oscar Wildeyou met me, flattered me, and taught me to be vain of my good looks. One day you introduced me to a friend of yours, who explained to me the wonder of youth, and you finished a portrait of me that revealed to me the wonder of beauty. In a mad moment that, even now, I don't know whether I regret or not, I made a wish, perhaps you would call it a prayer… .
Oscar WildeI am but too conscious of the fact that we are born in an age when only the dull are treated seriously, and I live in terror of not being misunderstood.
Oscar WildeI threw the pearl of my soul into a cup of wine. I went down the primrose path to the sound of flutes. I lived on honeycomb.
Oscar WildeTags: pleasure
Aber gerade die bestehenden Verhältnisse sind es, die bekämpft werden; und jeder Entwurf, der sich den bestehenden Verhältnissen anpasst, ist falsch und töricht. Die Verhältnisse werden abgeschafft werden, und die Natur des Menschen wird sich verändern. Man weiß über die menschliche Natur nur das eine mit Sicherheit, dass sie sich verändert. Veränderlichkeit ist die einzige EIgenschaft, über die wir wirklich etwas vorauszusagen vermögen. Die Systeme, die scheitern, sind jene die auf der Beständigkeit der menschlichen Natur aufbauen und nicht auf ihrem Wachstum und ihrer Entwicklung.
Oscar WildeDie Kunst ist die intensivste Form des Individualismus, die die Welt kennt. Ich bin versucht zu sagen, dass sie die einzige wirkliche Form des Individualismus ist, die die Welt je kannte." [...] Der Künstler aber kann allein, ohne Rücksicht auf seine Mitmenschen, ohne ihr Dazwischentreten, etwas Schönes gestalten; und wenn er nicht einzig zu seiner eigenen Freude arbeitet, ist er überhaupt kein Künstler. [...] Ein wirklicher Künstler glaubt an sich, weil er ganz und gar er selbst ist. [...] Ein echter Künstler kümmert sich nicht um das Publikum. Es exisitiert nicht für ihn. [...] Jede Autorität ist gleichermaßen ein Übel. [...] Mit der Zukunft allein haben wir uns auseinander zusetzen. Denn die Vergangenheit ist, was der Mensch nicht hätte sein dürfen. Die Gegenwart ist, was der Mensch nicht sein sollte. Die Zukunft ist, was die Künstler sind.
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