Lord Illingworth. You worship successes. You cling to them.
Mrs. Allonby. We are the laurels to hide their baldness.
Lord Illingworth. And they need you always, except at the moment of triumph.
Mrs. Allonby. They are uninteresting then.
Lord Illingworth. How tantalising you are! [A pause.]
Mrs. Allonby. Lord Illingworth, there is one thing I shall always like you for.
Lord Illingworth. Only one thing? And I have so many bad qualities.
Mrs. Allonby. Ah, don’t be too conceited about them. You may lose them as you grow old.
Lord Illingworth. I never intend to grow old. The soul is born old but grows young. That is the comedy of life.
Mrs. Allonby. And the body is born young and grows old. That is life’s tragedy.