Wilde sued Queensberry, lost, and was himself put on trial for consorting with minors. He longed for fame, but in the end he was destroyed by it. He ran willingly to his destiny, but he forgot that he could become its victim. He was the ox fattened with flowers, but only for the sacrifice. YET his fate is in some ways still the least interesting thing about him, just as his earlier poses did him a signal disservice.
Art is the most serious thing in the world.
So it is that although he turned conversation into an art, and his personality into a symbol, his real achievement lay elsewhere. Indeed there is a sense in which Oscar Wilde was the greatest artist of his time. The 19th century was on its deathbed and still he managed to make it laugh at itself. And so he wrote drama for society, philosophy for his equals, epigrams for everyone.