In old days books were written by men of letters and read by the public. Nowadays books are written by the public and read by nobody.

What are American dry-goods? asked the duchess, raising her large hands in wonder and accentuating the verb.

American novels, answered Lord Henry.

Online review sites are the slushpiles of feedback.

I love talking about nothing. It is the only thing I know anything about.

He covered page after page with wild words of sorrow and wilder words of pain. There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.

It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.