The Journal of Robbie Ross

My name is Robbie Ross. I was born 25 May 1869 and I am the close friend and executor of the estate of Oscar Wilde.



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Reblogged from oscarwildeyoucheekybastardyou
owildeapproves: constancewildesays: owildeapproves: constancewildesays: fuckyeah-oscarwilde: jeevesianjeevesgasms: For Nayeli (It’s in the book) Scanned specially for me :D Oscar during his 1882 American tour. Oh my! You look very young! I was very young. <3 You were not that young xD You look a bit younger than you actually were <3  Yes but Tumblr doesn’t need to know that! D: Always gorgeous.

owildeapproves:

constancewildesays:

owildeapproves:

constancewildesays:

fuckyeah-oscarwilde:

jeevesianjeevesgasms:

For Nayeli (It’s in the book)

Scanned specially for me :D

Oscar during his 1882 American tour.

Oh my! You look very young!

I was very young. <3

You were not that young xD You look a bit younger than you actually were <3

 Yes but Tumblr doesn’t need to know that! D:

Always gorgeous.

(Source: oscarwildeyoucheekybastardyou)


Reblogged from yourowndarlingboy

I am convinced

owildeapproves:

yourowndarlingboy:

owildeapproves:

yourowndarlingboy:

That Oscar only expresses his love for anyone by quarreling with them. And also that he might actually be a closeted heterosexual, at this point. 

Only because certain people have been hiding.

I’ve done nothing of the kind. I came round to your hotel but you were at home with your… wife, the clerk said.

I’ve run up a bill at Taylor’s to console myself.

Oh, I know for a fact that he is not a closeted heterosexual… poor Bosie, you’ve been missing out.



Reblogged from constancewildesays-deactivated2

robbieross said: I’m sorry, Constance, I seem to have… taken ill. The empty liquor cabinet has absolutely nothing to do with it

constancewildesays:

Well, of course I’m not as mad at you as I am at Oscar. Actually, I’m more… disappointed. I thought you were going to take care of him, keep him away from absinthe and make him control his temper for a while, but instead, you are granting his actions and supporting his behavior.

I’ve never been so disappointed in you Robbie.

It was entirely my fault, I know. I am deeply ashamed of myself.

(via constancewildesays-deactivated2)


Reblogged from xbisousx
Constance, if I get you this as a present, will you stop shouting and forgive me?

Constance, if I get you this as a present, will you stop shouting and forgive me?


I think I’ve started another argument, but I just want to bury my head in the couch where it’s quiet…


Reblogged from robbieross

Oh dear. At some point last night the liquor cabinet was opened and now I think I know how Oscar felt last night…

owildeapproves:

robbieross:

Also, I can’t find my clothes…

I found my breeches hanging on your balcony. I’ll make us some hot toddies to help the search.

Now how on Earth did they end up there…? 


Oh dear. At some point last night the liquor cabinet was opened and now I think I know how Oscar felt last night…

Also, I can’t find my clothes…


Reblogged from victoriasrustyknickers
victoriasrustyknickers: ‘Police work in the East End’ - The Graphic (London, England), Saturday, December 28, 1895 - Issue 1361. via British Library

victoriasrustyknickers:

‘Police work in the East End’ - The Graphic (London, England), Saturday, December 28, 1895 - Issue 1361.

via British Library

(via owildeapproves)


Reblogged from owildeapproves
owildeapproves: My typist is a sick and twisted little thing and he threatened to go on strike unless this was allowed to be posted. Enjoy his sketchings. Oh my. I approve most wholeheartedly of your typist&#8217;s imagination, once again, and find it exceedingly close to the truth.

owildeapproves:

My typist is a sick and twisted little thing and he threatened to go on strike unless this was allowed to be posted. Enjoy his sketchings.

Oh my. I approve most wholeheartedly of your typist’s imagination, once again, and find it exceedingly close to the truth.


Reblogged from atomos
“ Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.

Sylvia Plath (via wampireveekend)

WHAT THE FUCK? OSCAR WILDE WROTE THIS!! It’s from The Canterville Ghost!

Please don’t steal my man’s credit, okay?

(via bellatrix-is-a-star)

(Source: atomos, via bellatrixisastar)