Портрет Доріана Грея

           "No;Ithinkyournaturesodeep." 

           "Howdoyoumean?" 

           "Mydearboy,thepeoplewholoveonlyonceintheirlivesarereallytheshallowpeople. Whattheycalltheirloyalty,andtheirfidelity,Icalleitherthelethargyofcustomortheirlackofimagination. Faithfulnessistotheemotionallifewhatconsistencyistothelifeoftheintellect—simplyaconfessionoffailures. Faithfulness!Imustanalyseitsomeday.Thepassionforpropertyisinit. Therearemanythingsthatwewouldthrowawayifwewerenotafraidthatothersmightpickthemup. ButIdon’twanttointerruptyou.Goonwithyourstory." 

           "Well,Ifoundmyselfseatedinahorridlittleprivatebox,withavulgardrop-scenestaringmeintheface. Ilookedoutfrombehindthecurtain,andsurveyedthehouse. Itwasatawdryaffair,allCupidsandcornucopias,likeathird-rateweddingcake. Thegalleryandpitwerefairyfull,butthetworowsofdingystallswerequiteempty,andtherewashardlyapersoninwhatIsupposetheycalledthedress-circle. Womenwentaboutwithorangesandginger-beer,andtherewasaterribleconsumptionofnutsgoingon." 

           "ItmusthavebeenjustlikethepalmydaysoftheBritishDrama." 

           "Justlike,Ishouldfancy,andverydepressing. IbegantowonderwhatonearthIshoulddo,whenIcaughtsightoftheplay-bill. Whatdoyouthinktheplaywas,Harry?" 

           "Ishouldthink‘TheIdiotBoy,orDumbbutInnocent.’Ourfathersusedtolikethatsortofpiece,Ibelieve. ThelongerIlive,Dorian,themorekeenlyIfeelthatwhateverwasgoodenoughforourfathersisnotgoodenoughforus. Inart,asinpolitics,lesgrandpèresonttoujourstort."