As for omens, there is no such thing as an omen. Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that.
Don’t squander the gold of your days, listening to the tedious, trying to improve the hopeless failure, or giving away your life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar.
A man who marries without knowing Bunbury has a very tedious time of it.
Do you smoke? Well, yes, I must admit I smoke. I’m glad to hear of it. A man should always have an occupation of some kind.
I love hearing my relations abused. It is the only thing that makes me put up with them at all. Relations are simply a tedious pack of people, who haven’t got the remotest knowledge of how to live nor the smallest instinct about when to die.
Gwendolen, it is a terrible thing for a man to find out suddenly that all his life he has been speaking nothing but the truth. Can you forgive me?
Either this wallpaper goes, or I do.
It was not intended as a compliment. It was a confession. Now that I have made it, something seems to have gone out of me. Perhaps one should never put one’s worship into words.
She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest. She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion was never returned, she had kept all her illusions. She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy.
Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to someone who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer’s day.
But then one regrets the loss even of one’s worst habits. Perhaps one regrets them the most. They are such an essential part of one’s personality.
Can they feel, I wonder, those white silent people we call the dead?
I had buried my romance in a bed of asphodel.
Most modern calendars mar the sweet simplicity of our lives by reminding us that each day that passes is the anniversary of some perfectly uninteresting event.
How clever are you, my dear! You never mean a single word you say!
Many people become bankrupt through having invested too heavily in the prose of life. To have ruined one’s self over poetry is an honor.
My friend is not allowed to go out today. I sit by his side and read him passages from his own life. They fill him with surprise. Everyone should keep someone else’s diary; I sometimes suspect you of keeping mine.
I am sorry my life is so marred and maimed by extravagance. But I cannot live otherwise. I, at any rate, pay the penalty of suffering.
He is really not so ugly after all, provided, of course, that one shuts one’s eyes, and does not look at him.
I was wrong. God’s law is only Love.