Most people are other people

I read this really depressing quote by Oscar Wilde the other day - on a t-shirt, of all things, for sale somewhere online. To wear it would be some kind of uber-irony, I suppose:

Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.

I just looked it up, and found this longer bit, although I'm not sure of the citation:

People...go through their lives in a sort of coarse comfort, like petted animals, without ever realizing that they are probably thinking other people's thoughts, living by other people's standards, wearing practically what one may call other people's second-hand clothes, and never being themselves for a single moment. ...Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.

For the most part, I think this is true, especially based on my experience with plagiarisers in my classes. I wonder when one becomes afraid of their own ideas?

Someone left a comment on my book blog today, I feel with ill intent. What kind of person goes around reading people's book blogs leaving nasty comments? I suppose I'm mostly shocked that someone I don't know happened upon my blog. Well, thanks a lot, Grandma (if that IS your real name). Thanks for kicking a girl when she's down, which, fyi, is just about all the time now.

I found an awesome poem:

Dove in the Arch by Robert Desnos

Cursed!
be the father of the bride
of the blacksmith who forged the iron for the axe
with which the woodsman hacked down the oak
from which the bed was carved
in which was conceived the great-grandfather
of the man who was driving the carriage
in which your mother met your father.

I feel like drawing it.
Discuss: would Oscar Wilde love or hate blogs?