A Quote by Oscar Wilde

I threw the pearl of my soul into a cup of wine. I went down the primrose path to the sound of flutes. I lived on honeycomb. — © Oscar Wilde
I threw the pearl of my soul into a cup of wine. I went down the primrose path to the sound of flutes. I lived on honeycomb.
Music is the cup that holds the wine of silence. Sound is that cup, but empty. Noise is that cup, but broken.
Then is Love blest, when from the cup of the body he drinks the wine of the soul.
Letters are like wine; if they are sound they ripen with keeping. A man should lay down letters as he does a cellar of wine.
I thought Out of Action was better as a catalogue than the honeycomb because the honeycomb was like walking into one compartment and then another compartment.
A Primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was something more.
Yachting may call to mind champagne flutes and seersucker, but danger and risk have always been a part of the America's Cup.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?
I lived in Camden, Primrose Hill and Kentish Town for 10 years.
I'm not really into alternative country - I'm into Patsy Cline, who lived down the street from where I lived, and old Dolly Parton records, Kitty Wells and that old stuff. I like country music. I also like Eric Church, who has a great new sound but also holds onto that old sound.
My sense of divine brings with it a strange sound of music with its glories, a marvellous melody sounding like a multitude of flutes.
A pure soul is like a fine pearl. As long as it is hidden in the shell, at the bottom of the sea, no one thinks of admiring it. But if you bring it into the sunshine, this pearl will shine and attract all eyes. Thus the pure soul, which is hidden from the eyes of the world, will one day shine before the Angels in the sunshine of eternity.
From age 16, I lived and breathed wine. I read every magazine and book about wine.
If all of my instructions to staff during the seven years I hosted a radio show were written down and examined, I'd sound a lot like Bruce Levenson. Hell, I might sound much worse. The path to inclusion and diversity is not paved with precise, pretty words.
Poetry is the arithmetic of the easiest way and the primrose path, matched up with foam-flanked horses, bloody knuckles, and bones, on the hard ways to the stars.
Frog or pearl, life hid something at the bottom of the cup.
Oh I've seen Jude Law a couple of times, with his kids in tow, looking stressed. But I've lived in Primrose Hill for 20 years.
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