There is a
grotesque
horror about its
comedies, and its tragedies seem to culminate in farce.
comedies, and its tragedies seem to culminate in farce.
Oscar Wilde - Poetry
They are the last refuge of the complex.
There is nothing like youth. The middle-aged are mortgaged to life. The
old are in life's lumber-room. But youth is the lord of life. Youth has
a kingdom waiting for it. Everyone is born a king, and most people die
in exile--like most kings.
All crime is vulgar, just as all vulgarity is crime.
Society, civilised society at least, is never very ready to believe
anything to the detriment of those who are both rich and fascinating. It
instinctively feels that manners are of more importance than morals, and
in its opinion the highest respectability is of much less value than the
possession of a good chef. And, after all, it is a very poor consolation
to be told that the man who has given one a bad dinner or poor wine is
irreproachable in his private life. Even the cardinal virtues cannot
atone for half-cold entrees.
While, in the opinion of society, contemplation is the gravest thing of
which any citizen can be guilty, in the opinion of the highest culture
it is the proper occupation of man.
Life is terribly deficient in form. Its catastrophes happen in the wrong
way and to the wrong people.
There is a grotesque horror about its
comedies, and its tragedies seem to culminate in farce. One is always
wounded when one approaches it. Things last either too long or not long
enough.
If a woman wants to hold a man she has merely to appeal to what is worst
in him.
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
Beauty has as many meanings as man has moods. It is the symbol of
symbols. It reveals everything, because it expresses nothing. When it
shows us itself it shows us the whole fiery-coloured world.
Men always want to be a woman's first love. That is their clumsy vanity.
Women have a more subtle instinct about things. What they like is to be
a man's last romance.
Anything approaching to the free play of the mind is practically unknown
amongst us. People cry out against the sinner, yet it is not the sinful
but the stupid who are our shame. There is no sin except stupidity.
There is nothing like youth. The middle-aged are mortgaged to life. The
old are in life's lumber-room. But youth is the lord of life. Youth has
a kingdom waiting for it. Everyone is born a king, and most people die
in exile--like most kings.
All crime is vulgar, just as all vulgarity is crime.
Society, civilised society at least, is never very ready to believe
anything to the detriment of those who are both rich and fascinating. It
instinctively feels that manners are of more importance than morals, and
in its opinion the highest respectability is of much less value than the
possession of a good chef. And, after all, it is a very poor consolation
to be told that the man who has given one a bad dinner or poor wine is
irreproachable in his private life. Even the cardinal virtues cannot
atone for half-cold entrees.
While, in the opinion of society, contemplation is the gravest thing of
which any citizen can be guilty, in the opinion of the highest culture
it is the proper occupation of man.
Life is terribly deficient in form. Its catastrophes happen in the wrong
way and to the wrong people.
There is a grotesque horror about its
comedies, and its tragedies seem to culminate in farce. One is always
wounded when one approaches it. Things last either too long or not long
enough.
If a woman wants to hold a man she has merely to appeal to what is worst
in him.
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
Beauty has as many meanings as man has moods. It is the symbol of
symbols. It reveals everything, because it expresses nothing. When it
shows us itself it shows us the whole fiery-coloured world.
Men always want to be a woman's first love. That is their clumsy vanity.
Women have a more subtle instinct about things. What they like is to be
a man's last romance.
Anything approaching to the free play of the mind is practically unknown
amongst us. People cry out against the sinner, yet it is not the sinful
but the stupid who are our shame. There is no sin except stupidity.
