Портрет Доріана Грея
Preface
LordHenrystretchedhimselfoutonthedivanandlaughed.
"Yes,Iknewyouwould;butitisquitetrue,allthesame."
"Toomuchofyourselfinit! Uponmyword,Basil,Ididn’tknowyouweresovain; andIreallycan’tseeanyresemblancebetweenyou,withyourruggedstrongfaceandyourcoal-blackhair, andthisyoungAdonis,wholooksasifhewasmadeoutofivoryandrose-leaves.
Why,mydearBasil,heisaNarcissus,andyou—well,ofcourseyouhaveanintellectualexpression,andallthat. Butbeauty,realbeauty,endswhereanintellectualexpressionbegins.
Intellectisinitselfamodeofexaggeration,anddestroystheharmonyofanyface. Themomentonesitsdowntothink,onebecomesallnose,orallforehead,orsomethinghorrid. Lookatthesuccessfulmeninanyofthelearnedprofessions. Howperfectlyhideoustheyare!Except,ofcourse,intheChurch. ButthenintheChurchtheydon’tthink. Abishopkeepsonsayingattheageofeightywhathewastoldtosaywhenhewasaboyofeighteen, andasanaturalconsequencehealwayslooksabsolutelydelightful. Yourmysteriousyoungfriend,whosenameyouhavenevertoldme,butwhosepicturereallyfascinatesme,neverthinks. Ifeelquitesureofthat. Heissomebrainless,beautifulcreature,whoshouldbealwayshereinwinter whenwehavenoflowerstolookat,andalwayshereinsummerwhenwewantsomethingtochillourintelligence. Don’tflatteryourself,Basil:youarenotintheleastlikehim."
"Youdon’tunderstandme,Harry,"answeredtheartist. "OfcourseIamnotlikehim.
