The heart was made to be broken.
I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then – but I don’t know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.
In the cave of black Despair: He only looked upon the sun, And drank the morning air.
When you are not on your pedestal you are not interesting.
El culto de los sentidos ha sido censurado con frecuencia y con mucha justicia, porque al ser humano su naturaleza le hace sentir un terror instintivo ante pasiones y sensaciones que le parecen más fuertes que él, y que es consciente de compartir con formas inferiores del mundo orgánico.
Other people are quite dreadful. The only possible society is oneself.
Yesterday evening Mrs. Arundel insisted on my going to the window, and looking at the glorious sky, as she called it. Of course I had to look at it. She is one of those absurdly pretty Philistines to whom one can deny nothing. And what was it? It was simply a very second-rate Turner, a Turner of a bad period
I don’t desire to change anything in England except the weather,
Humanity takes itself too seriously.
Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful invalid.
Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. This shillyshallying with the question is absurd.