Twenty years of romance make a woman look like a ruin; but twenty years
of marriage make her something like a public building.
of marriage make her something like a public building.
Oscar Wilde - Poetry
SEBASTIAN MELMOTH
[OSCAR WILDE]
London
Arthur L. Humphreys
1911
(Miscellaneous aphorisms, followed by The Soul of Man. )
The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.
Women are made to be loved, not to be understood.
It is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one should read and
what one shouldn't. Moren than half of modern culture depends on what
one shouldn't read.
Women, as someone says, love with their ears, just as men love with
their eyes, if they ever love at all.
It is better to be beautiful than to be good, but it is better to be
good than to be ugly.
Nothing looks so like innocence as an indiscretion.
Misfortunes one can endure, they come from outside, they are accidents.
But to suffer for one's faults--ah! there is the sting of life.
Beauty is the only thing that time cannot harm. Philosophies fall away
like sand, creeds follow one another, but what is beautiful is a joy for
all seasons, a possession for all eternity.
Questions are never indiscreet; answers sometimes are.
Twenty years of romance make a woman look like a ruin; but twenty years
of marriage make her something like a public building.
The only thing that one really knows about human nature is that it
changes.
Anyone can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a
very fine nature to sympathise with a friend's success.
Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to
live as one wishes to live: and unselfishness is letting other people's
lives alone, not interfering with them.
A man who does not think for himself does not think at all.
Nowadays people seem to look on life as a speculation. It is not a
speculation. It is a sacrament. Its ideal is love. Its purification is
sacrifice.
In old days nobody pretended to be a bit better than his neighbour. In
fact, to be a bit better than one's neighbour was considered excessively
vulgar and middle class. Nowadays, with our modern mania for morality,
everyone has to pose as a paragon of purity, incorruptibility, and all
the other seven deadly virtues. And what is the result? You all go over
like ninepins--one after the other.
All sympathy is fine, but sympathy with suffering is the least fine
mode.
