"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose." - Oscar Wilde

The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul?

Every woman is a rebel, and usually in wild revolt against herself.

Lord Goring: Now I'm gonna give you some good advice. Mrs. Cheveley: Pray don't. You should never give a woman something she can't wear in the evening