The Nightingale and the Rose Quotes

“The moon in her chariot of pearl”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“Be happy, cried the Nightingale, be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - "that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“What a silly thing Love is,' said the Student as he walked away. 'It is not as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose (Original 1888 Edition): Annotated

“Entonces el ruiseñor voló sobre el rosal que crecía alrededor del reloj de sol.”
― Oscar Wilde, El Ruisenor y la Rosa

“pata de la paloma; y más rojas que los hermosos”
― Oscar Wilde, El Ruisenor y la Rosa

“It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything,”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose (Original 1888 Edition): Annotated

“Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not;
night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see
him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red
as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale
ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“All night long
she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold, crystal
Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the
thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her lifeblood
ebbed away from her.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“the Nightingale pressed
closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a
fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and
wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is
perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a
fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold, crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her lifeblood ebbed away from her.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

“If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose