Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.

The vilest deeds like poison weeds Bloom well in prison air; It is only what is good in man That wastes and withers there.

LADY STUTFIELD I adore silent men. MRS ALLONBY Oh, Ernest isn't silent. He talks the whole time. But he has got no conversation. What he talks about I don't know. I haven't listened to him for years.

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

Art never expresses anything but itself.

The only form of fiction in which real characters do not seem out of place is history. In novels they are detestable.

Self-denial is the shining sore on the leprous body of Christianity.