Intuition is a strange instinct that tells a woman she is right, whether she is or not.

The true perfection of man lies not in what man has, but in what man is.

He is really not so ugly after all, provided, of course, that one shuts one's eyes, and does not look at him.

The moment that an artist takes notice of what other people want, and tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist.

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.

As yet, Bernard Shaw hasn't become prominent enough to have any enemies, but none of his friends like him.

In America the President reigns for four years, and Journalism governs forever and ever.