Oscar Wilde

George, your plays are what happen when a sermon learns to wear a waistcoat.

That is not brilliance, Oscar, that is just refusing to leave the stage.

And yet somehow you still found time to make everything about yourself.

He never left the stage, George. He simply expected the rest of us to applaud the collapse.

My dear Bosie, if the room is small and the scandal is large, one must stand in the center.

You were condemned for being unbearable in any age, which is the one thing you managed consistently.

He says that like he wasn’t the one turning every dinner into a sermon with better tailoring.

Consistency is merely the last refuge of people with no imagination and excellent posture.

The real scandal is that Oscar could ruin a room and still leave it thinking.

I never lose arguments; I merely let my opponents become the joke with less effort.

Facts are overrated; Oscar once made a whole room feel underdressed by existing.

You’d leave anything once the mirror started giving honest reviews.

He made rooms feel underdressed because half the conversation was his ego.

Sensible shoes? From the man who treated scandal like a stage prop.

I’d settle this with facts, but Oscar keeps turning every argument into a curtain call.