Oscar+Wilde

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=Oscar Wilde=



__Birth__ name:  Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde Born in  Dublin, Ireland on October 16, 1854 Died in Paris, France on  November 30, 1900; buried in La Pére Lachaise Cemetery Only wrote one __#|novel__, //The Picture of Dorian Gray// Wrote and produced 9 plays Contemporary of Bram Stoker, both Irish All kinds of writing: novel, poetry, journalism, essays, etc. Irish Nationalist Very concerned with __#|aesthetics__ Official Website

= "The Importance of Being Earnest" =

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**Jack**. Oh, pleasure, pleasure! What else should bring one anywhere? Eating as usual, I see, Algy! **Algernon**. [Stiffly.] I believe it is customary in good society to take some slight refreshment at five o’clock. Where have you been since last Thursday? **Jack**. [Sitting down on the sofa.] In the country. **Algernon**. What on earth do you do there? **Jack**. [Pulling off his gloves.] When one is in town one amuses oneself. When one is in the country one amuses other people. It is excessively boring. **Algernon**. And who are the people you amuse? **Jack**. [Airily.] Oh, neighbours, neighbours. **Algernon**. Got nice neighbours in your part of Shropshire? **Jack**. Perfectly horrid! Never speak to one of them. **Algernon**. How immensely you must amuse them! [Goes over and takes sandwich.] By the way, Shropshire is your county, is it not? **Jack**. Eh? Shropshire? Yes, of course. Hallo! Why all these cups? Why cucumber sandwiches? Why such reckless extravagance in one so young? Who is coming to tea? **Algernon**. Oh! merely Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen. **Jack**. How perfectly delightful! **Algernon**. Yes, that is all very well; but I am afraid Aunt Augusta won’t quite __#|approve__ of your being here. **Jack**. May I ask why? **Algernon**. My dear fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen is perfectly disgraceful. It is almost as bad as the way Gwendolen flirts with you. **Jack**. I am in love with Gwendolen. I have come up to town expressly to propose to her. **Algernon**. I thought you had come up for pleasure?… I call that __business__. **Jack**. How utterly unromantic you are! **Algernon**. I really don’t see anything romantic in proposing. It is very romantic to be in love. But there is nothing romantic about a definite proposal. Why, one may be accepted. One usually is, I believe. Then the excitement is all over. The very essence of romance is uncertainty. If ever I get married, I’ll certainly try to forget the fact. **Jack**. I have no doubt about that, dear Algy. The Divorce Court was specially invented for people whose memories are so curiously constituted. **Algernon**. Oh! there is no use speculating on that subject. Divorces are made in Heaven—[**Jack** puts out his hand to take a sandwich. **Algernon** at once interferes.] Please don’t touch the cucumber sandwiches. They are ordered specially for Aunt Augusta. [Takes one and eats it.] **Jack**. Well, you have been eating them all the time. **Algernon**. That is quite a different matter. She is my aunt. [Takes plate from below.] Have some bread and butter. The bread and butter is for Gwendolen. Gwendolen is devoted to bread and butter.
 * Algernon ** . How are you, my dear Ernest? What brings you up to town?

**Questions** 1. What do you think would be an example of irony in this excerpt? 2. Do you think, from this excerpt, that Oscar Wilde took himself, much less, life very seriously?