Oscar Wilde

How long could you love a woman who didn't love you, Cecil? A woman who didn't love me? Oh, all my life!

A mask tells us more than a face.

Even now I cannot help feeling that it is a mistake to think that the passion one feels in creation is ever really shown in the work one creates.

Know thyself' was written over the portal of the antique world. Over the portal of the new world, 'Be thyself' shall be written.

The burden of this world is too great for one man to bear, and the world’s sorrow too heavy for one heart to suffer.

Behind the perfection of a man's style, must lie the passion of a man's soul.

No theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself

I have never met any really wicked person before. I feel rather frightened. I am so afraid he will look just like every one else.

The one duty we owe to history is to rewrite it.

I don't like novels that end happily. They depress me so much

To be popular one must be a mediocrity." "Not with Women," said the duchess, shaking her head; "and women rule the world. I assure you we can't bear mediocrities. We women, as someone says, love with our ears, just as you men love with your eyes, if you ever love at all." "It seems to me that we never do anything else," murmered Dorian.

LADY BRACKNELL Algernon is an extremely, I may almost say an ostentatiously, eligible young man. He has nothing, but he looks everything. What more can one desire?

JACK Your duty as a gentleman calls you back. ALGERNON My duty as a gentleman has never interfered with my pleasures in the smallest degree.

In fact, now you mention the subject, I have been very bad in my own small way. I don't think you should be so proud of that, though I am sure it must have been very pleasant.

Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful invalid. Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. This shillyshallying with the question is absurd.

To begin with, I dined there on Monday, and once a week is quite enough to dine with one's own relations.

One's days were too brief to take the burden of another's errors on one's shoulders. Each man lived his own life and paid his own price for living it.

Any place you love is the world to you.

There were opium-dens, where one could buy oblivion, dens of horror where the memory of old sins could be destroyed by the madness of sins that were new.

The world is made by the singer for the dreamer.

The birds that were singing in the dew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.