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“- Então não adivinhou -, disse, com um pouco de escárnio no seu terror. - Sou um indizível do tipo Oscar Wilde. - Os seus olhos fecharam-se, e levando os punhos cerrados até eles, ficou sentado imóvel, tendo apelado a César.
Por fim, veio a sentença. Mal conseguia acreditar no que ouvia. Era «Tolices, tolices!». Estava à espera de muita coisa, mas não disto; pois se as suas palavras eram tolices, a sua vida era um sonho.
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P.181, MAURICE, E.M. FORSTER

"So you've never guessed," he said, with a touch of scorn in his terror. "I'm an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort." His eyes closed, and driving clenched fists against them he sat motionless, having appealed to Caesar.
At last judgement came. He could scarcely believe his ears. It was "Rubbish, rubbish!" He had expected many things, but not this; for if his words were rubbish his life was a dream.”
― E.M. Forster, Maurice