Conscience makes egotists of us all.

Every woman becomes their mother. That's their tragedy. And no man becomes his. That's his tragedy.

I should have remembered that when one is going to lead an entirely new life, one requires regular and wholesome meals.

He rides in the row at ten o clock in the morning, goes to the Opera three times a week, changes his clothes at least five times a day, and dines out every night of the season. You don't call that leading an idle life, do you?

I never forget a face, but in your case I'll make an exception.

The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.

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.