Everything is dangerous, my dear fellow. If it wasn't so, life wouldn't be worth living.
Oscar WildeRead
I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die. I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me. Why should it keep what I must lose? Every moment that passes takes something from me and gives something to it. Oh, if it were only the other way! If the picture could change, and I could be always what I am now! Why did you paint it? It will mock me some day—mock me horribly!
Interpretation
The quote reflects a sense of envy towards enduring beauty and the transient nature of life.
In this quote, Oscar Wilde expresses a deep jealousy towards things that possess eternal beauty, contrasting them with the inevitable decay and loss experienced in human life. He laments the fact that while he ages and loses aspects of himself, the painted portrait captures a moment of his beauty eternally, provoking feelings of mockery from a static representation of himself as he faces the fluid nature of existence and time.
In practice
In a speech about the importance of capturing moments, this quote can illustrate the longing for permanence in an impermanent world.
Everything is dangerous, my dear fellow. If it wasn't so, life wouldn't be worth living.
London is too full of fogs and serious people. Whether the fogs produce the serious people, or whether the serious people produce the fogs, I don't know.
When one has never heard a man's name in the course of one's life, it speaks volumes for him; he must be quite respectable.
Men always want to be a woman's first love - women like to be a man's last romance.
A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes in it.
His morality is all sympathy, just what morality should be
If the human intellect functions, it is actually in order to solve the problems which the man's inner destiny sets it.
Strange and marvelous things will happen with constant regularity as you alter your life and begin living in harmony with the laws of the universe.
The river was mild and leisurely, going away from the people who ate shadows for breakfast and steam for lunch and vapors for supper.
Sadly I write in my quiet room, alone as I have always been, alone as I will always be. And I wonder if my apparently negligible voice might not embody the essence of thousands of voices, the longing for self expression of thousands of lives, the patience of millions of souls resigned like my own to their daily lot, their useless dreams, and their hopeless hopes.
No one can define or measure justice, democracy, security, freedom, truth, or love. No one can define or measure any value. But if no one speaks up for them, if systems aren’t designed to produce them, if we don’t speak about them and point toward their presence or absence, they will cease to exist.
Terrorism has become a festering wound. It is an enemy of humanity.
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