Портрет Доріана Грея

           "Can’tyouseeyouridealinit? "saidDorian,bitterly. 

           "Myideal,asyoucallit...." 

           "Asyoucalledit." 

           "Therewasnothingevilinit,nothingshameful. YouweretomesuchanidealasIshallnevermeetagain. Thisisthefaceofasatyr." 

           "Itisthefaceofmysoul." 

           "Christ!whatathingImusthaveworshipped! Ithastheeyesofadevil." 

           "EachofushasHeavenandHellinhim,Basil,"criedDorian,withawildgestureofdespair. 

           Hallwardturnedagaintotheportrait,andgazedatit. "MyGod!ifitistrue,"heexclaimed,"andthisiswhatyouhavedonewithyourlife, why,youmustbeworseeventhanthosewhotalkagainstyoufancyyoutobe! "Heheldthelightupagaintothecanvas,andexaminedit. Thesurfaceseemedtobequiteundisturbed,andashehadleftit. Itwasfromwithin,apparently,thatthefoulnessandhorrorhadcome. Throughsomestrangequickeningofinnerlifetheleprosiesofsinwereslowlyeatingthethingaway. Therottingofacorpseinawaterygravewasnotsofearful. 

           Hishandshook,andthecandlefellfromitssocketonthefloor,andlaytheresputtering. Heplacedhisfootonitandputitout. Thenheflunghimselfintothericketychairthatwasstandingbythetableandburiedhisfaceinhishands.