Oct 16, 1854 - Nov 30, 1900
was an Irish writer and poet
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The cities of America are inexpressibly tedious. The Bostonians take their learning too sadly; culture with them is an accomplishment rather than an atmosphere; their Hub, as they call it, is the paradise of prigs. Chicago is a sort of monster-shop, full of bustles and bores. Political life at Washington is like political life in a suburban vestry. Baltimore is amusing for a week, but Philadelphia is dreadfully provincial; and though one can dine in New York one could not dwell there.
Society often forgives the criminal; it never forgives the dreamer.
Women are never disarmed by compliments. Men always are. That is the difference between the two sexes.
Better the rule of One, whom all obey, than to let clamorous demagogues betray our freedom with the kiss of anarchy.
The fact is, the public make use of the classics of a country as a means of checking the progress of Art. They degrade the classics into authorities. They use them as bludgeons for preventing the free expression of Beauty in new forms.
It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.
Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.
The well-bred contradict other people. The wise contradict themselves.
It is only the unimaginative who ever invents. The true artist is known by the use he makes of what he annexes.
With an evening coat and a white tie, anybody, even a stock broker, can gain a reputation for being civilized.
There is no such thing as a moral book or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. That is all.
I am dying beyond my means.
For he who lives more lives than one: More deaths than one must die.
Alas, I am dying beyond my means.
Through our sunless lanes creeps Poverty with her hungry eyes, and Sin with his sodden face follows close behind her. Misery wakes us in the morning and Shame sits with us at night.
She wore far too much rouge last night and not quite enough clothes. That is always a sign of despair in a woman.
Despotism is unjust to everybody, including the despot, who was probably made for better things.
There are three kinds of despots. There is the despot who tyrannizes over the body. There is the despot who tyrannizes over the soul. There is the despot who tyrannizes over the soul and body alike. The first is called the Prince. The second is called the Pope. The third is called the People.
Bad manners make a journalist.
It is a dangerous thing to reform anyone.
It was a fatal day when the public discovered that the pen is mightier than the paving-stone, and can be made as offensive as the brickbat. They at once sought for the journalist, found him, developed him, and made him their industrious and well-paid servant. It is greatly to be regretted, for both their sakes.
There is much to be said in favor of modern journalism. By giving us the opinions of the uneducated, it keeps us in touch with the ignorance of the community. By carefully chronicling the current events of contemporary life, it shows us of what very little importance such events really are. By invariably discussing the unnecessary, it makes us understand what things are requisite for culture, and what are not.
The true critic is he who bears within himself the dreams and ideas and feelings of myriad generations, and to whom no form of thought is alien, no emotional impulse obscure.
All charming people, I fancy, are spoiled. It is the secret of their attraction.
Few parents nowadays pay any regard to what their children say to them. The old-fashioned respect for the young is fast dying out.
The first duty of life is to be as artificial as possible. What the second duty is no one as yet discovered.
Oh, duty is what one expects from others, it is not what one does oneself.
Every great man nowadays has his disciples, and it is usually Judas who writes the biography.
As long as a woman can look ten years younger than her own daughter, she is perfectly satisfied.
The books that the world calls immoral are the books that show the world its own shame.