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Oscar Wilde

The Sphinx In a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy thinks A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me through the shifting gloom. Inviolate and immobile she does not rise she does not stir For silver moons are naught to her and naught to her the suns that reel. Red follows… Continue reading Oscar Wilde

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Aestheticism · Autobiographical · Biographical · British Culture · British Literature · Classic · Confessional · Correspondence · Essay · Excerpt · Irish Culture · Letter · Non-fiction · Passage · Quote · Victorian

Oscar Wilde

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. (Fontamara, September 12th 1993) Originally published 1905.

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