Портрет Доріана Грея

           Lifeisnotgovernedbywillorintention. Lifeisaquestionofnerves,andfibres,andslowlybuilt-upcellsinwhichthoughthidesitselfandpassionhasitsdreams. Youmayfancyyourselfsafe,andthinkyourselfstrong. Butachancetoneofcolourinaroomoramorningsky,aparticularperfumethatyouhadoncelovedandthatbringssubtlememorieswithit,alinefromaforgottenpoemthatyouhadcomeacrossagain,acadencefromapieceofmusicthatyouhadceasedtoplay—Itellyou,Dorian,thatitisonthingslikethesethatourlivesdepend. Browningwritesaboutthatsomewhere; butourownsenseswillimaginethemforus. Therearemomentswhentheodouroflilasblancpassessuddenlyacrossme,andIhavetolivethestrangestmonthofmylifeoveragain. IwishIcouldchangeplaceswithyou,Dorian. Theworldhascriedoutagainstusboth,butithasalwaysworshippedyou. Italwayswillworshipyou. Youarethetypeofwhattheageissearchingfor,andwhatitisafraidithasfound. Iamsogladthatyouhaveneverdoneanything,nevercarvedastatue,orpaintedapicture,orproducedanythingoutsideofyourself! Lifehasbeenyourart. Youhavesetyourselftomusic. Yourdaysareyoursonnets." 

           Dorianroseupfromthepiano,andpassedhishandthroughhishair. "Yes,lifehasbeenexquisite,"hemurmured,"butIamnotgoingtohavethesamelife,Harry. Andyoumustnotsaytheseextravagantthingstome. Youdon’tknoweverythingaboutme. Ithinkthatifyoudid,evenyouwouldturnfromme. Youlaugh. Don’tlaugh." 

           "Whyhaveyoustoppedplaying,Dorian? Gobackandgivemethenocturneoveragain. Lookatthatgreathoney-colouredmoonthathangsintheduskyair. Sheiswaitingforyoutocharmher,andifyouplayshewillcomeclosertotheearth. Youwon’t? Letusgototheclub,then.