Quotes from Oscar Wilde

When you are not on your pedestal you are not interesting.

Not Forgive us for our sins but Smite us for our iniquities should be the prayer of man to a most just God.

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

To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim.

beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are the privilege of the rich

Now, the value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it. Indeed, the probabilities are the most insincere the man is, the more purely intellectual will the idea be, as in that case it will not be coloured by either his wants, his desires, or his prejudices.

I feel that if I kept it secret it might grow in my mind (as poisonous things grow in the dark) and take its place with the other terrible thoughts that gnaw me

The trouble with socialism is that it takes up too many evenings.

And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine Burned like the ruby fire set In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine, Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate, Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.

What you really are is a Bunburyist. I was quite right in saying you were a Bunburyist. You are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know.

He must have a truly romantic nature, for he weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about.

All charming people are spoiled. It is the secret of their attraction.

I adore political parties. They are the only place left to us where people don't talk politics.

Every little action of the common day makes or unmakes character.

No woman should have a memory. Memory in a woman is the beginning of dowdiness. One can always tell from a woman's bonnet whether she has got a memory or not.

I usually say what I really think. A great mistake nowadays. It makes one so liable to be misunderstood.

If the Socialism is Authoritarian; if there are Governments armed with economic power as they are now with political power; if, in a word, we are to have Industrial Tyrannies, then the last state of man will be worse than the first.

I hope it did not end happily? I don't like novels that end happily. They depress me so much.

For the canons of good society are, or should be, the same as the canons of art. Form is absolutely essential to it.

And now, dear Mr. Worthing, I will not intrude any longer into a house of sorrow. I would merely beg you not to be too much bowed down by grief. What seem to us bitter trials are often blessings in disguise. This seems to me a blessing of an extremely obvious kind.

I am athirst for thy beauty; I am hungry for thy body; and neither wine nor apples can appease my desire. What shall I do now, Iokanaan? Neither the floods nor the great waters can quench my passion. I was a princess, and thou didst scorn me. I was a virgin, and thou didst take my virginity from me. I was chaste, and thou didst fill my veins with fire . . .

What is termed Sin is an essential element of progress. Without it the world would stagnate, or grow old, or become colourless.

I often have long conversations all by myself, and I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying. Then you should certainly lecture on Philosophy, said the Dragon-fly

Good artists exist simply in what they make, and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in what they are.