I love hearing my relations abused. It is the only thing that makes me put up with them at all.

Oh, why will parents always appear at the wrong time? Some extraordinary mistake in nature, I suppose.

Women love us for our defects. If we have enough of them, they will forgive us everything, even our gigantic intellects.

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.

Like dear St. Francis of Assisi I am wedded to Poverty: but in my case the marriage is not a success.

Ideals are dangerous things. Realities are better. They wound, but they're better.

It is a very dangerous thing to know one’s friends.