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  • Oscar Wilde Quotes   1859
  • You have always told me it was Ernest. I have introduced you to every one as Ernest. You answer to the name of Ernest. You look as if your name was Ernest. You are the most earnest-looking person I ever saw in my life. It is perfectly absurd your saying that your name isn't Ernest.
    • 5 years ago



    Tags : Oscar Wilde Quotes , Names Quotes , Looks Quotes
  • Medievalism, with its saints and martyrs, its love of self-torture, its wild passion for wounding itself, its gashing with knives, and its whipping with rods - Medievalism is real Christianity, and the medieval Christ is the real Christ.
    • 5 years ago



    Tags : Oscar Wilde Quotes , Real Quotes , Passion Quotes
  • What between the duties expected of one during one's lifetime, and the duties exacted from one after one's death, land has ceased to be either a profit or a pleasure. It gives one position, and prevents one from keeping it up. That's all that can be said about land.
    • 5 years ago



    Tags : Oscar Wilde Quotes , Home Quotes , Land Quotes
  • As one reads history, not in the expurgated editions written for schoolboys and passmen, but in the original authorities of each time, one is absolutely sickened, not by the crimes that the wicked have committed, but by the punishments that the good have inflicted; and a community is infinitely more brutalised by the habitual employment of punishment than it is by the occasional occurrence of crime.
    • 5 years ago



    Tags : Oscar Wilde Quotes , Punishment Quotes , Community Quotes
  • Now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion.
    • 5 years ago



    Tags : Oscar Wilde Quotes , Art Quotes , Thinking Quotes
  • The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness, and, when thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion. We reject the burden of their memory, and have anodynes against them. But the little things, the things of no moment, remain with us. In some tiny ivory cell the brain stores the most delicate, and the most fleeting impressions.
    • 5 years ago



    Tags : Oscar Wilde Quotes , Memories Quotes , Flower Quotes