How strange a thing this is! The Priest telleth me that the Soul is worth all the gold in the world, and the merchants say that it is not worth a clipped piece of silver. – Oscar Wilde
He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends. – Oscar Wilde
He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realise. – Oscar Wilde
I have to confess that I had gambled on my soul and lost it with heroic insouciance and lightness of touch. The soul is so impalpable, so often useless, and sometimes such a nuisance, that I felt no more emotion on losing it than if, on a stroll, I had mislaid my visiting card. – Charles Baudelaire