More words

Whenever I see/hear/read/encounter something beautiful I can’t fight the temptation to share it with as much people as possible. To me a brilliant human mind possesses an extraordinary beauty under whose charm I fall captive without resistance and with great joy.

An extract from “The picture of Dorian Gray”, Chapter VI. I took the liberty to cut off the colouring and to leave the raw idea. The whole piece in its full splendour can be found here.

“Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about, but I am afraid I cannot claim my theory as my own. It belongs to Nature, not to me. Pleasure is Nature’s test, her sign of approval. When we are happy we are always good, but when we are good we are not always happy.”

“Ah! but what do you mean by good?”

“To be good is to be in harmony with one’s self; discord is to be forced to be in harmony with others. One’s own life--that is the important thing. As for the lives of one’s neighbors, if one wishes to be a prig or a Puritan, one can flaunt one’s moral views about them, but they are not one’s concern. Besides, Individualism has really the higher aim. Modern morality consists in accepting the standard of one’s age. I consider that for any man of culture to accept the standard of his age is a form of the grossest immorality.”

“But, surely, if one lives merely for one’s self, one pays a terrible price for doing so?”

“Yes, we are overcharged for everything nowadays. I should fancy that the real tragedy of the poor is that they can afford nothing but self-denial. Beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are the privilege of the rich.”

“One has to pay in other ways but money.”

“What sort of ways?”

“Oh! I should fancy in remorse, in suffering, in... well, in the consciousness of degradation.”

“My dear fellow, mediæval art is charming, but mediæval emotions are out of date. One can use them in fiction, of course. But then the only things that one can use in fiction are the things that one has ceased to use in fact. Believe me, no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is.”

“I know what pleasure is. It is to adore some one.”

“That is certainly better than being adored. Being adored is a nuisance. Women treat us just as Humanity treats its gods. They worship us, and are always bothering us to do something for them.”

“Harry, you are dreadful! I don’t know why I like you so much.”

“You will always like me, Dorian,” he replied. “Will you have some coffee, you fellows? Waiter, bring coffee, and fine-champagne, and some cigarettes. No; don’t mind the cigarettes; I have some. Basil, I can’t allow you to smoke cigars. You must have a cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can one want? Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit.”