Oscar Wilde Quotes

“The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass. The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.”

“It's wearying, like Caliban buttonholing you in hell and telling you the struggle he's having getting along with himself.”

“The 19thc hatred of Realism is Caliban's enraged reaction to seeing his own face in the mirror. The 19thc rejection of Romanticism is Caliban's fury at not seeing his face reflected in the mirror.”

“There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass. The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium”

“Once upon a time, in the not-so-distant past, very weird people were effectively isolated from all the other very weird people.But today, the internet makes it possible for very weird people from anywhere on the planet to get on the internet and talk to one another.”

“Here’s something to think about: the only thing you really own is what you create. And the only thing you can create without needing someone else to give you the raw materials first… is intellectual property.You can write a book, or draw a picture, or compose some music.Everything else is borrowed. It belonged to someone else before you and it will belong to someone else after you.”

“A southwest blow on ye and blister you all o'er!''The red plague rid you!''Toads, beetles, bats, light on you!''As wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed with raven's feather from unwholesome fen drop on you.''Strange stuff''Thou jesting monkey thou''Apes with foreheads villainous low''Pied ninny''Blind mole...' -The Caliban Curses”

“Interestingly, this speech by Prospero does not contrast the unreality of the stage with the solid, flesh-and-blood existence of real men and women. On the contrary, it seizes on the flimsiness of dramatic characters as a metaphor for the fleeting, fantasy-ridden quality of actual human lives. It is we who are made of dreams, not just such figments of Shakespeare’s imagination as Ariel and Caliban. The cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces of this earth are mere stage scenery after all.”

“A near-fatal case of scurvy being the only reason I can imagine drinking something with grapefruit juice in it.”

“I'm sorry you lost the suit,' he said.She shrugged.'At this point, it was mostly a metaphor anyway,' she said...”