I don’t want to go to heaven. None of my friends are there
Irish poet and playwright. After writing in different forms throughout the 1880s, he became one of London's most popular playwrights in the early 1890s.
A lovely face is the solace of wounded hearts and the key of locked-up gates
He who is fond of delicious food, let him bear in mind that ultimately he is to be food for worms
This world is but canvas to our imaginations
God gives sleep to the bad, in order that the good may be undisturbed
While there's life, there's hope
All knowledge degenerates into probability
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