Портрет Дориана Грея

           NightafternightIgotoseeherplay. OneeveningsheisRosalind,andthenexteveningsheisImogen. IhaveseenherdieinthegloomofanItaliantomb,suckingthepoisonfromherlover’slips. IhavewatchedherwanderingthroughtheforestofArden,disguisedasaprettyboyinhoseanddoubletanddaintycap. Shehasbeenmad,andhascomeintothepresenceofaguiltyking,andgivenhimruetowear,andbitterherbstotasteof. Shehasbeeninnocent,andtheblackhandsofjealousyhavecrushedherreed-likethroat. Ihaveseenherineveryageandineverycostume.Ordinarywomenneverappealtoone’simagination. Theyarelimitedtotheircentury.Noglamourevertransfiguresthem. Oneknowstheirmindsaseasilyasoneknowstheirbonnets.Onecanalwaysfindthem.Thereisnomysteryinanyofthem. TheyrideintheParkinthemorning,andchatterattea-partiesintheafternoon. Theyhavetheirstereotypedsmile,andtheirfashionablemanner.Theyarequiteobvious.Butanactress! Howdifferentanactressis!Harry!whydidn’tyoutellmethattheonlythingworthlovingisanactress?" 

           "BecauseIhavelovedsomanyofthem,Dorian." 

           "Oh,yes,horridpeoplewithdyedhairandpaintedfaces." 

           "Don’trundowndyedhairandpaintedfaces. Thereisanextraordinarycharminthem,sometimes,"saidLordHenry. 

           "IwishnowIhadnottoldyouaboutSibylVane." 

           "Youcouldnothavehelpedtellingme,Dorian. Allthroughyourlifeyouwilltellmeeverythingyoudo." 

           "Yes,Harry,Ibelievethatistrue.Icannothelptellingyouthings. Youhaveacuriousinfluenceoverme. IfIeverdidacrime,Iwouldcomeandconfessittoyou. Youwouldunderstandme."