To be born, or at any rate bred, in a hand-bag, whether it had handles or not, seems to me to display a contempt for the ordinary decencies of family life that reminds one of the worst excesses of the French Revolution.
Oscar WildeBehind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.
Oscar WildeTag: appreciation aesthetics hidden-things
We women, as some one says, love with our ears, just as you men love with your eyes, if you ever love at all.
Oscar WildeTag: men-and-women
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.
Oscar WildeWe have quite the same ideas. No; I think our ideas are quite different. But he has been most pleasant.
Oscar WildeTag: persuasion
The art is nothing without the gift. But the gift is nothing without work.
Oscar WildeI wonder who it was defined man as a rational animal. It was the most premature definition ever given. Man is many things, but he is not rational.
Oscar WildeWhen one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.
Oscar WildeTag: romance
The only artists I have ever known who are personally delightful are bad artists. Good artists exist simply in what they make, and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in what they are. A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of all creatures. But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes are, the more picturesque they look. The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonnets makes a man quite irresistible. He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realize.
Oscar WildeHuman life--that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating. Compared to it there was nothing else of any value. It was true that as one watched life in its curious crucible of pain and pleasure, one could not wear over one's face a mask of glass, nor keep the sulphurous fumes from troubling the brain and making the imagination turbid with monstrous fancies and misshapen dreams.
Oscar WildeTag: psychology
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