When the commonplace "We must all die" tranfors itself suddenly into the acute consciousness "I must die - and soon," then death grapples us, and his fingers are cruel; afterwards, he may come to fold us in his arms as our mother did, and our last moment of dim earthly discerning may be like the first.

Which of them, then, was more detestable? The one who was loathsome by nature, or the one who wanted to be loathsome but hadn't enough ambition to excel at it&gt;

All are living their life. If you are living  for  yourself, doing nothing  for others then you  are  doing  nothing.

Women love us for our defects. If we have enough of them, they will forgive us everything, even our intellects.

Written By Oscar Wilde

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