Only the shallow know themselves.
God knows; I won't be an Oxford don anyhow. I'll be a poet, a writer, a dramatist. Somehow or other I'll be famous, and if not famous, I'll be notorious. Or perhaps I'll lead the life of pleasure for a time and then—who knows?—rest and do nothing. What does Plato say is the highest end that man can attain here below? To sit down and contemplate the good. Perhaps that will be the end of me too.
A blog entirely dedicated to Oscar Wilde's genius.
"We have really everything in common with America nowadays, except, of course, language."
Reblogged from vyvyan-holland
Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost, 1887 (via vyvyan-holland)
"Tread Lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow."
Reblogged from vyvyan-holland
Requiescat, Oscar Wilde, 1881
Wilde wrote this poem for his sister Isola, who died of meningitis aged 9.
(via vyvyan-holland)
"I like talking to a brick wall- it’s the only thing in the world that never contradicts me!"
Reblogged from quotesandnonsense
Oscar Wilde- Lady Windermere’s Fan (via quotesandnonsense)
Bear with me on this one.
I know I haven’t updated this blog (or any blog) in weeks, but please bear with me on this one, I’m actually writing my thesis (that’s a dissertation for you british lovelies) and I really have to focus on it.
So be patient, this blog will be back in all its Wildean glory very soon (Hopefully in a week).
Thank you.
Reblogged from agirlandherbibliophilia
‘Everyone called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was. So I lived and so I died. And now that I’m dead, they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and unhappiness of my city, and though my heart is made of lead, yet I cannot help crying’.
- From The Happy Prince, a tale by Oscar Wilde.
My scan.
"Mere color, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form, can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways."
Reblogged from mylittleloaf
Oscar Wilde (via mylittleloaf)
Reblogged from aliya69viktoria
As oftentimes the too resplendent sun
Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won
A single ballad from the nightingale,
So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,
And all my sweetest singing out of tune.
And as at dawn across the level mead
On wings impetuous some wind will come,
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed
Which was its only instrument of song,
So my too stormy passions work me wrong,
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.
But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.by O. Wilde
"Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!"
Reblogged from ceruleanmermaid13
Oscar Wilde (via ceruleanmermaid13)
"Ordinary riches can be stolen, real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you."
Reblogged from shrookasfour
Oscar Wilde (via shrookasfour)
Thanks to everyone for their answers about the shirt. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you before but… midterms.
"[t]he best work in literature is always done by those who do not depend on it for their daily bread and the highest form of literature, Poetry, brings no wealth to the singer,…Make some sacrifice for your art and you will be repaid but ask of art to sacrifice herself for you and a bitter disappointment may come to you."
Reblogged from deadbeatpoet-deactivated2013051
Oscar Wilde as quoted in a story at NPR Books (via deadbeatpoet)
