Портрет Доріана Грея

           Theygiveus,nowandthen,someofthoseluxurioussterileemotionsthathaveacertaincharmfortheweak. Thatisallthatcanbesaidforthem. Theyaresimplychequesthatmendrawonabankwheretheyhavenoaccount." 

           "Harry,"criedDorianGray,comingoverandsittingdownbesidehim, "whyisitthatIcannotfeelthistragedyasmuchasIwantto? Idon’tthinkIamheartless. Doyou?" 

           "Youhavedonetoomanyfoolishthingsduringthelastfortnighttobeentitledtogiveyourselfthatname,Dorian,"answeredLordHenry,withhissweet,melancholysmile. 

           Theladfrowned. "Idon’tlikethatexplanation,Harry,"herejoined,"butIamgladyoudon’tthinkIamheartless. Iamnothingofthekind. IknowIamnot. AndyetImustadmitthatthisthingthathashappeneddoesnotaffectmeasitshould. Itseemstometobesimplylikeawonderfulendingtoawonderfulplay. IthasalltheterriblebeautyofaGreektragedy,atragedyinwhichItookagreatpart,butbywhichIhavenotbeenwounded." 

           "Itisaninterestingquestion,"saidLordHenry, whofoundanexquisitepleasureinplayingonthelad’sunconsciousegotism —"anextremelyinterestingquestion. Ifancythatthetrueexplanationisthis. Itoftenhappensthattherealtragediesoflifeoccurinsuchaninartisticmannerthattheyhurtusbytheircrudeviolence,theirabsoluteincoherence,theirabsurdwantofmeaning,theirentirelackofstyle. Theyaffectusjustasvulgarityaffectsus. Theygiveusanimpressionofsheerbruteforce,andwerevoltagainstthat. Sometimes,however,atragedythatpossessesartisticelementsofbeautycrossesourlives.