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The finest of writers the world has yet known, With his sharpness of humour this man stands alone. Quotations well-known to both adult and child, This is the tale of the great Oscar Wilde. He started by loving his dad and his mum But later, reflected and ended up glum. He said, "Rarely, if ever, should children forgive All the sins of their parents who taught them to live." Not a man of the fashion was young adult Wilde: When asked for his thoughts on the subject he smiled. "It's ugly," he said, "and so not at all queer That we find that it changes two times every year."

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  • Seuss on Wilde
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  • The finest of writers the world has yet known, With his sharpness of humour this man stands alone. Quotations well-known to both adult and child, This is the tale of the great Oscar Wilde. He started by loving his dad and his mum But later, reflected and ended up glum. He said, "Rarely, if ever, should children forgive All the sins of their parents who taught them to live." Not a man of the fashion was young adult Wilde: When asked for his thoughts on the subject he smiled. "It's ugly," he said, "and so not at all queer That we find that it changes two times every year."
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  • The finest of writers the world has yet known, With his sharpness of humour this man stands alone. Quotations well-known to both adult and child, This is the tale of the great Oscar Wilde. He started by loving his dad and his mum But later, reflected and ended up glum. He said, "Rarely, if ever, should children forgive All the sins of their parents who taught them to live." Not a man of the fashion was young adult Wilde: When asked for his thoughts on the subject he smiled. "It's ugly," he said, "and so not at all queer That we find that it changes two times every year." Now Wilde was a man who was certainly witty, For he lived in the countryside and in the city. And calling himself either Ernest or Jack, He charmed all whom he met and he never looked back. As Jack in the country, he motioned his head Towards all of the colourful fields and he said, "See all of those flow'rs in that field they're all sunned in: They're almost as common as people in London." In the city, as Ernest, he started to draw A self-portrait which had not the tiniest flaw. At his image he gazed and then with that long glance, He began with himself his famed life-long romance. But when was he Ernest or Oscar or Jack? He was fooling himself! and he started to crack. He lashed at his portrait and tore it asunder And fell to the ground with a crash of great thunder. Mortally wounded he clung onto life And he thought about all that had led to his strife. He'd never told anyone of his great shame: The love that dared not even speak its own name. On the walls that surrounded his deathbed were birds Whose silliness led to his famous last words: "That wallpaper's awful," said Oscar. "You know, One or the other of us has to go." As Wilde left this world and the wallpaper won, The creation of Wilde quotes had barely begun. But I won't dwell on this, just consider instead: "I've naught to declare but my genius," he said.
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