Love is wiser than Philosophy, though he is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty... His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.

Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde

Profession: Dramatist
Nationality: Irish


Love is wiser than Philosophy, though he is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty... Hi.. Oscar Wilde

Some suggestions for you :

The world is divided into two classes, those who believe the incredible, and those who do the improbable.

It is sometimes said that the tragedy of an artist's life is that he cannot realize his ideal.

What people call insincerity is simply a method by which we can multiply our personalities.

One should never give a woman anything that she can't wear in the evening.

Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.

The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror. We think that we are generous because we credit our neighbour with the possession of those virtues that are likely to be a benefit to us.

Facts are not merely finding a footing-place in history but they are usurping the domain of fancy and have invaded the kingdom of romance. Their chilling touch is over everything. They are vulgarising mankind.

There is the same world for all of us, and good and evil, sin and innocence, go through it hand in hand. To shut one's eyes to half of life that one may live securely is as though one blinded oneself that one might walk with more safety in a land of pit and precipice.

I keep a diary in order to enter the wonderful secrets of my life. If I didn't write them down, I should not probably forget all about them.

He had that curious love of green, which in individuals is always the sign of a subtle artistic temperament, and in nations is said to denote a laxity, if not a decadence of morals.

I never came across anyone in whom the moral sense was dominant who was not heartless, cruel, vindictive, log-stupid, and entirely lacking in the smallest sense of humanity. Moral people, as they are termed, are simple beasts.

Why had it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself?

Lord Henry smiled. People are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves. It is what I call the depth of generosity.

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.