Oscar Wilde Quotes about Heart - Page 2

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The weather is entrancing, but in my heart there is no sun.

The weather is entrancing, but in my heart there is no sun.

Oscar Wilde

Heart, Weather, Sun

Oscar Wilde (1962). “Letters”

I will not bare my soul to their shallow prying eyes. My heart shall never be put under their microscope.

Oscar Wilde

Heart, Eye, Soul

Oscar Wilde, Russell Jackson, Joseph Bristow, Ian Small (2000). “The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde: The picture of Dorian Gray : the 1890 and 1891 texts”, p.14, Oxford University Press on Demand

I would not a bit mind sleeping in the cool grass in summer, and when winter came on sheltering myself by the warm close-thatched rick, or under the penthouse of a great barn, provided I had love in my heart.

Oscar Wilde

Summer, Home, Heart

Oscar Wilde (1961). “DE PROFUNDIS”, p.10, VICTORIA INSTITUTIONS

I find I have, and a heart doesn’t suit me, Windermere. Somehow it doesn’t go with modern dress. It makes one look old.

Oscar Wilde

Heart, Dresses, Looks

Oscar Wilde (2013). “Lady Windermere's Fan”, p.67, Courier Corporation

Ah! happy day they whose hearts can break And peace of pardon win! How else may man make straight his plan And cleanse his soul from Sin? How else but through a broken heart May Lord Christ enter in?

Oscar Wilde

Heart, Winning, Men

The Ballad of Reading Gaol pt. 5, st. 14 (1898)

When he takes the knife to the canvass the servants find him lying dead with a knife through is heart and "withered, wrinkled, and loathsome of visage." and the portrait "in all the wonders of his exquisite youth and beauty." p 349

Oscar Wilde

Lying, Heart, Knives

Requiescat Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust. Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew. Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone She is at rest. Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life’s buried here, Heap earth upon it.

Oscar Wilde

Lying, Heart, White

Oscar Wilde, Russell Jackson, Ian Small (2000). “The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde: Poems and poems in prose”, p.5, Oxford University Press on Demand