Oscar Wilde ( 10 of 342 )
The imagination imitates. It is the critical spirit that creates.
The imagination imitates. It is the critical spirit that creates.
It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.
It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.
The soul is born old but grows young. That is the comedy of life. And the body is born young read more
The soul is born old but grows young. That is the comedy of life. And the body is born young and grows old. That is life's tragedy.
Love is born with the pleasure of looking at each other, it is fed with the necessity of seeing each read more
Love is born with the pleasure of looking at each other, it is fed with the necessity of seeing each other, it is concluded with the impossibility of separation.
I can sympathize with everything, except suffering.
I can sympathize with everything, except suffering.
True friends stab you in the front.
True friends stab you in the front.
Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.
Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.
What we have to do, what at any rate it is our duty to do, is to revive the old read more
What we have to do, what at any rate it is our duty to do, is to revive the old art of Lying.
The truth is rarely pure and never simple.
The truth is rarely pure and never simple.
Feast of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, Martyr, 1170 Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach Thy hand read more
Feast of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, Martyr, 1170 Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach Thy hand For I am drowning in a stormier sea Than Simon on the the lake of Galilee: The wine of life is spilt upon the sand, My heart is as some famine-murdered land Whence all good things have perished utterly, And well I know my soul in Hell must lie If I this night before God's throne must stand. "He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase, Like Baal, when his prophets holed that name From morn to noon on Carmel's smitten height." Nay, peace! I shall behold, before the night, The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame, The wounded hands, the weary human face.
