«Портрет Дориана Грея / The Picture of Dorian Gray» adlı sesli kitaptan alıntılar, sayfa 2

has taught me to know myself better.”

Perhaps his cruel talk about Sibyl Vane was just a mood that would pass away.

You can’t approve of it, possibly.”

He could smell opium and he smiled with pleasure

“I know what pleasure is,” cried Dorian Gray. “It is to worship someone.”

cried Dorian Gray, “if Lord Henry Wotton goes, I will go too. You never open your lips while you are painting, and it is horribly boring just standing here. Ask him to stay. I insist upon it.” “All right, please stay, Harry. For Dorian and for me,” said Hallward, staring at his picture. “It is true that I never talk when I am working, and never listen either. It must be very boring for my sitters. Sit down again, Harry. And Dorian don’t move about too much, or listen to what Lord Henry says. He has a very bad influence over all his friends, with the single exception of myself.” Dorian Gray stood while Hallward finished his portrait. He liked what he had seen of Lord Henry. He was so unlike Basil. And he had such a beautiful voice. After a few moments he said to him, “Have you really a very bad influence, Lord Henry? As bad as Basil says?” “There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr. Gray. All influence is immoral.” “Why?”

he cried. “It would be murder!” “I am glad that you appreciate my work at last, Dorian,” said the painter coldly. “I never thought you would.” “Appreciate it? I am in love with it, Basil. It is part of myself. I feel that.” “What silly people you are, both of you!” said Lord Henry. “I don’t like scenes, except on the stage. Lets forget about the painting for one night and go to the theatre.” “I would like to come to the theatre with you, Lord Henry.”

I wish I could believe that he has died some romantic death, but I can’t. He probably fell into the Seine 92  off a bus. I can see him now lying on his back in the dirty green water. During the last ten years he had not been painting well

they entered they saw Dorian Gray. He was sitting at the piano, with his back to them, and he was turning the pages of some music by Schumann. “You must lend me these, Basil,” he cried. “I want to learn them. They are perfectly charming.” “That entirely depends on how you sit today,[11] Dorian.” “Oh, I am bored with sitting, and I don’t want a portrait of myself,” answered the boy, turning quickly. When he caught sight of Lord Henry, his face went red for a moment. “I am sorry, Basil, I didn’t know that you had anyone with you.” “This is Lord Henry Wotton, Dorian, an old Oxford friend of mine.[12] I have just been telling him what a good sitter you were,[13] and now you have spoiled everything.” “You have not spoiled my pleasure in meeting you, Mr. Gray,” said Lord Henry, stepping forward and offering his hand. “My aunt has often spoken to me about you. You are one of her favourites, and, I am afraid, one of her victims also.” “I am in Lady Agatha’s black books at present,[14]” answered Dorian. “I promised to go to a club in Whitechapel[15] with her last Tuesday, and I forgot all about it. I don’t know what she will say to me. I am far

But Juliet was a beautiful young actress. She was about seventeen years old.