«Портрет Дориана Грея / The Picture of Dorian Gray» kitabından 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.”

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.”

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

a few minutes you will see the girl to whom I am going to give all my life, to whom I have given everything that is good in me.”

“He should have a lot of money waiting for him.

“Whose is it?” “Dorian’s, of course,” answered the painter. “He is a very lucky fellow.” “How sad it is!” said Dorian Gray, who was still staring at his own portrait. “I will grow old and horrible. But this painting will always stay young. It will never be older than this day in June… If only it were the other way!” “What do you mean?” asked Hallward. “If I could stay young and the picture grow old! For that – for that – I would give everything! Yes, there is nothing in the whole world I would not give! I would give my soul for that!” “I don’t think you would like that, Basil!” cried Lord Henry,

And yet, what was there to be afraid of? He was not a schoolboy or a girl. It was silly to be afraid. “Let us go and sit out of the sun. I don’t want you to be burnt by the sun.” “What does that matter?” cried Dorian Gray, laughing as he sat down on the seat at the end of the garden. “It should matter very much to you, Mr. Gray.” “Why?” “Because you are young, and youth is the best thing in the world.” “I don’t feel that, Lord Henry.” “No, you don’t feel it now. Some day when you are old and ugly you will feel it terribly. Now, wherever you go, you charm the world. Will it always be so? You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr. Gray.” “I don’t think.” “Don’t frown. It is true. The gods have been good to you. But what the gods give they quickly take away.[18] You have only a few years in which to really live, perfectly and fully. Live your life now, while you are still young!” Suddenly the painter appeared at the door and waved at them to come in. They turned to each other and smiled. “I am waiting,” he cried. “Do come in. The light is quite perfect, and you can bring your drinks.”