But what of life whose bitter hungry sea Flows at our heels, and gloom of sunless night Covers the days which never more return? Ambition, love and all the thoughts that burn We lose too soon, and only find delight In withered husks of some dead memory.
Oscar WildeThe British cook, for her iniquities, is a foolish woman who should be turned into a pillar of salt which she never knows how to use.
Oscar WildeThere is only one real tragedy in a woman's life. The fact that her past is always her lover, and her future invariably her husband.
Oscar WildeBut beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don't think.
Oscar Wilde