Crying is the refuge of plain women but the ruin of pretty ones.
Oscar WildeRead
646 quotes
Crying is the refuge of plain women but the ruin of pretty ones.
I adore political parties. They are the only place left to us where people don't talk politics.
Bigamy ? It's having one wife too much..._x000D_ _x000D_ ...Monogamy ? It's the same.
The condition of perfection is idleness: the aim of perfection is youth.
All trials are trials for one's life, just as all sentences are sentences of death.
To make men Socialists is nothing, but to make Socialism human is a great thing.
Popularity is the crown of laurel which the world puts on bad art. Whatever is popular is wrong.
It is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things. Names are everything. I never quarrel with actions. My one quarrel is with words. The man who could call a spade a spade should be compelled to use one. It is the only thing he is fit for.
There is no mode of action, no form of emotion, that we do not share with the lower animals. It is only by language that we rise above them.
There is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought. There is immoral emotion.
It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you place the blame.
The ancient historians gave us delightful fiction in the form of fact; the modern novelist presents us with dull facts under the guise of fiction.
It is personalities not principles that move the age.
No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
Bad art is a great deal worse than no art at all.
The true critic is he who bears within himself the dreams and ideas and feelings of myriad generations, and to whom no form of thought is alien, no emotional impulse obscure.
I won't belong to a club that accepts me as a member
At every single moment of one's life one is what one is going to be no less than what one has been.
It is art, and art only, that reveals us to ourselves.
To be entirely free, and at the same time entirely dominated by law, is the eternal paradox of human life.
When liberty comes with hands dabbled in blood it is hard to shake hands with her.
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