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Quote by Oscar Wilde

“The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass. The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.”

Quote by Oscar Wilde

Work

The Picture Of Dorian Gray

The story follows the protagonist Dorian Gray, whose portrait ages while he remains youthful, leading to a dark exploration of the consequences of unchecked desires. more

Author

Oscar Wilde
Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde, born on October 16, 1854, in Ireland, and died on November 30, 1900, was a renowned Irish writer, playwright, and poet. His works are known for their wit, satire, and unique style, with notable works including 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' and 'Lady Windermere's Fan'. more

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“He firmly pulled her body against his and he brushed her lips with his. Staring into her eyes, he lightly slid his tongue across her bottom lip. She drew a deep, staggered breath in response to the wave of heat she felt flushing through her. Derrick smiled at her. Then, he softly kissed her. He lightly swept his tongue between her lips, pressing his warm, soft lips to hers. He slid his hands up her body and cradled her face with his hands. Then, he passionately kissed her, tickling her tongue with his. He sucked her lips, gently, as though he was sampling nectar on a delicate petal. Then, with an intense urgency, he dipped his tongue past her lips, caressing her tongue with his. She felt fluttering inside. Anne’s body craved him. A shallow hum escaped from within her in response to how he was making her feel. She could feel his body responding to her. He was breathing heavier which was waking Anne’s primal needs. The tidal wave of lust that had just churned within her was slowly calming as his kiss became more subtle and tender. He gently pressed his lips against hers. He pulled back a little and looked away, exhaling.”

“Remember, the village idiot was the spiritual man who built the ark and saved his family. Keep being you and never give up marching to the beat of your own drum!”

“Why?" He stopped pacing and looked at her as if she'd just asked him to count every leaf on every tree in the Old Place. "Because... you're you.”