It's a d----d lot more than most people get in this world." After a pause he started off on a new line of thought: "The first time I ever noticed any fault in Oscar was over that 'Salome' translation.

He's appallingly conceited.

You know I did the play into English.

I found that his choice of words was poor, anything but good; his prose is wooden....
"Of course he's not a poet," he broke off contemptuously, "even you must admit that." "I know what you mean," I replied; "though I should have to make a vast reservation in favour of the man who wrote 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol.'" "One ballad doesn't make a man a poet," he barked; "I mean by poet one to whom verse lends power: in that sense he's not a poet and I am." His tone was that of defiant challenge.
"You are certainly," I replied.
"Well, I did the translation of 'Salome' very carefully, as no one else could have done it," and he flushed angrily, "and all the while Oscar kept on altering it for the worse.

At last I had to tell him the truth, and we had a row.