Oscar Wilde

There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.

As far as the piano is concerned, sentiment is my forte. I keep science for Life.

Art is our spirited protest, our gallant attempt to teach Nature her proper place.

He must be quite respectable. One has never heard his name before in the whole course of one’s life, which speaks volumes for a man, nowadays.

What martyrs we are, dear Margaret!

For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow.

If you pretend to be good, the world takes you very seriously. If you pretend to be bad, it doesn’t.

Charity creates a multitude of sins.

“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon.

Early in life she had discovered the important truth that nothing looks so like innocence as an indiscretion; and by a series of reckless escapades, half of them quite harmless, she had acquired all the privileges of a personality.

Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow.

My dear fellow, she tried to found a salon, and only succeeded in opening a restaurant.

When one is in town one amuses oneself. When one is in the country one amuses other people. It is excessively boring.

We don’t admit anybody who is of the usual age.

The one advantage of playing with fire, Lady Caroline, is that one never gets even singed. It is the people who don’t know how to play with it who get burned up.

It is entirely composed now of beautiful idiots and brilliant lunatics.

Where there is sorrow there is holy ground.

I couldn’t help it. I can resist everything except temptation.

It is like advising a man who is starving to eat less.

There is no Mystery so great as Misery.