Work is the curse of the drinking classes.

The saying of Oscar Wilde — “Work is the curse of the drinking classes” — resounds like a jest, yet behind the laughter lies a blade of truth. Wilde, master of wit, unmasked society with words that seemed light, but cut deep. He saw that while men and women sought joy in fellowship, song, and wine, the weight of endless toil pressed them down, robbing them of the very delight that makes existence worth enduring.

In the tongue of the ancients, one might declare that work, meant to dignify humanity, had instead become a chain, binding spirit and body alike. Once, labor was a sacred act — tilling the earth, shaping stone, crafting goods that sustained life. But in Wilde’s time, and even in ours, labor became drudgery, a force that consumes the soul’s brightness. Thus, he named it not a blessing, but a curse, laid heavy upon those who sought release in drink, laughter, and fleeting freedom.

The phrase “drinking classes” was not meant in scorn but in irony. It was Wilde’s way of mocking the division between the wealthy, who enjoyed leisure without toil, and the working poor, who found brief salvation in the cup. To drink was not merely to escape, but to reclaim — if only for an hour — a kingdom of the self, unshackled from duty. In this way, Wilde elevated the reveler, showing that their thirst was not weakness but protest, their merriment not folly but rebellion.

Yet let us hear, beneath the jest, a warning: when work devours life, when duty eclipses joy, then humanity loses its essence. Wilde reminds us that to live is not merely to labor, but to savor — to laugh, to dream, to feast with friends. His paradoxical wit calls us to remember that true wealth is measured not in coins earned, but in moments lived.

So let these words endure as counsel to future generations: do not let work become your master. Let it serve you, but do not bow wholly to its demands. For life is brief, and its sweetest nectar lies not in endless striving, but in the balance of labor and leisure, of bread and wine, of burden and song. Wilde’s jest, like the wisdom of the ancients, is both laughter and law: that joy, once lost, is the greatest curse of all.