What A Lurid Life Oscar Wilde Does

For A Young Man, Sleep Is A Sure Solvent Of Distress. There Whirls Not For Him In The Night Any So Hideous Phantasmagoria As Will Not Become, In The Clarity Of The Next Morning, A Spruce Procession For Him To Lead. Brief The Vague Horror Of His Awakening; Memory Sweeps Back To Him, And He Sees Nothing Dreadful After All. "why Not?" Is The Sun's Bright Message To Him, And "why Not Indeed?" His Answer.

Beauty And The Lust For Learning Have Yet To Be Allied.

The Past Is A Work Of Art, Free Of Irrelevancies And Loose Ends.

Only The Insane Take Themselves Seriously.

The Hospitable Instinct Is Not Wholly Altruistic. There Is Pride And Egoism Mixed Up With It.