He sought to become eyes to the blind, ears to the deaf, and a cry in the lips of those whose lips had been sealed. His wish was that of being the trumpet through which the voiceless multitude could reach the sky.
from the book "" by Oscar Wilde
He sought to become eyes to the blind, ears to the deaf, and a cry in the lips of those whose lips had been sealed. His wish was that of being the trumpet through which the voiceless multitude could reach the sky.
There is a kind of fate that follows our good decisions. You always decide too late.
To regret one's own experiences is to arrest one's own development. To deny one's own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one's life. It is no less than a denial of the soul.
"Yes" he continued "I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your silver Faun. You will like them always. How long will you like me? Till I have my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one loses one's good looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything. Your picture has taught me that. Lord Henry Wotton is perfectly right. Youth is the only thing worth having. When I find that I am growing old, I shall kill myself.". [...] "This is your doing Henry"; said the painted sourly. Lord Henry shrugged: "This is the true Dorian Gray, that is all".
The common hillflowers wither, but they blossom again. The laburnum will be as yellow next June as it is now. In a month there will be purple stars on the clematis, and year after year the green night of its leaves will hold its purple stars. But we never get back our youth. The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty, becomes sluggish. Our limbs fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we had not the courage to yield to...Youth! Youth! There is absolutely nothing in the world but youth.
He was always late on principle, his principle being that punctuality is the thief of time.
The aim of life is self-development. To realize one's nature perfectly - that is what each of us is here for.
To define is to limit.
We hear a lot of beauty that is in the certainty; it seems that you ignore the more subtle beauty that is in doubt. Believing is very monotonous, the doubt is deeply passionate Being wary, there's life; being lulled into tranquility, there's death.
What a blessing it is that there is one art left to us that is not imitative! Don't stop. I want music tonight. It seems to me that you are the young Apollo, and that I am Marsyas listening to you. I have sorrows, Dorian, of my own, that even you know nothing of. The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young. I am amazed sometimes at my own sincerity.
[...]
My dear boy, you are really beginning to moralize. You will soon be going about like the converted, and the revivalist, warning people against all the sins of which you have grown tired. You are much too delightful to do that. Besides, it is no use. You and I are what we are, and will be what we will be. As for being poisoned by a book, there is no such thing as that. Art has no influence upon action. It annihilates the desire to act. It is superbly sterile. The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame. That is all.