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Oscar Wilde
Quote #214
And all, but Lust, is turned to dust In Humanity's machine.
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The vilest deeds like poison weeds Bloom well in prison air; It is only what is good in man That wastes and withers there; Pale Anguish kee…
How else but through a broken heart May Lord Christ enter in?
I know not whether Laws be right, Or whether Laws be wrong; All that we know who lie in gaol Is that the wall is strong; And that each day …
I have said to you to speak the truth is a painful thing. To be forced to tell lies is much worse.
And alien tears will fill for him Pity's long-broken urn, For his mourners will be outcast men, And outcasts always mourn.
A thing is, according to the mode in which one looks at it.
And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats, None knew so well as I: For he who lives more lives than one More deaths than one must die.
It seems to me that we all look at Nature too much, and live with her too little.
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