She lacks the indefinable charm of weakness. It is the feet of clay that make the gold of the image precious. ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray. (Modern Library; Modern Library edition June 1, 1998) Originally published June 20th 1890.
It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, don’t spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the ethereal bosom, high, of the high vast… Continue reading James Joyce
Salomé, Salomé, dance for me. I pray thee dance for me. I am sad to-night. Yes, I am passing sad to-night. When I came hither I slipped in blood, which is an evil omen; and I heard, I am sure I heard in the air a beating of wings, a beating of giant wings. I… Continue reading Oscar Wilde
And sun and moon and starry fires and earth and air and sea Are creatures from the deep let loose who pause in ecstasy, Or wing their wild and heavenly way until again they find, The ancient deep and fade therein, enraptured, bright and blind. — George William “Æ” Russell, from “Winds of Angus,” Collected… Continue reading George William “Æ” Russell
…and after all, the wrong road always leads somewhere. — George Bernard Shaw, The Dark Lady of the Sonnets. Premiered at the Haymarket theatre, London 24 November 1910.
And you would murmur tender words, Forgiving me, because you were dead: Nor would you rise and hasten away, Though you have the will of wild birds, But know your hair was bound and wound About the stars and moon and sun. — W.B. Yeats, from “He Wishes His Beloved Were Dead,” The Wind Among… Continue reading W.B. Yeats
The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul? — Oscar Wilde, ”De Profundis,” Originally published: 1905. De Profundis and Other… Continue reading Oscar Wilde
Most writers waste people’s time with too many words. I’m trying to reduce everything down to the minimum. My last work will be a blank piece of paper. — Samuel Beckett
The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh. ― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot. (Grove Press; 1 edition, May 17, 2011) Originally published 1952. Premiered 5 January 1953 at theThéâtre de Babylone, Paris France.
The fact that a believer is happier than a skeptic is no more to the point than the fact that a drunken man is happier than a sober one. The happiness of credulity is a cheap and dangerous quality of happiness, and by no means a necessity of life. ― George Bernard Shaw, Androcles and… Continue reading George Bernard Shaw