I put all my genius into my life; I put only my talent into my works.
The reason we are so pleased to find other people's secrets is that it distracts public attention from our own.
I won't belong to a club that accepts me as a member
Romance should never begin with sentiment. It should begin with science and end with a settlement. Nothing spoils romance so much as a sense of humor in the woman. When one is in love one always begins by deceiving oneself, and one always ends by deceiving others. This is what the world calls a romance.
A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
The one charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.
She is very clever, too clever for a woman. She lacks the indefinable charm of weakness.
In America the President reigns for four years, and Journalism governs forever and ever.
Every impulse we strangle will only poison us.
With an evening coat and a white tie, anybody, even a stockbroker, can gain a reputation for being civilized
You must have a cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can one want?
It is always the unreadable that occurs.
To be natural is such a very difficult pose to keep up.
The form of government that is most suitable to the artist is no government at all. Authority over him and his art is ridiculous.
The ugly can be beautiful. The pretty, never.
Sin is the only real colour element left in modern life.
Irony is wasted on the stupid
"I hope your hair curls naturally, does it?" "Yes, darling, with a little help from others."
The artistic life is a long, lovely suicide.
The ability of the theist to misunderstand a thing is directly proportional to the obviousness of the thing.
It is only the intellectually lost who ever argue.
The critic has to educate the public; the artist has to educate the critic.
I treated Art as the supreme reality and life as a mere mode of fiction.
You might see nothing in him. I see everything in him.
Any place you love is the world to you”, explained the pensive Catherine Wheel, who had been attached to an old deal box in early life, and prided herself on her broken heart; “but love is not fashionable any more, the poets have killed it. They wrote so much about that nobody believed them, and I am not surprised. True love suffers, and is silent. I remember myself once- But it is no matter now. Romance is a thing of the past.
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