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1"Yes, you are the same. I wonder what the rest of your life will be. Don't spoil it by renunciations. At present you are
2a perfect type. Don't make yourself incomplete. You are quite flawless now. You need not shake your head: you know you
3are. Besides, Dorian, don't deceive yourself. Life is not governed by will or intention. Life is a question of nerves,
4and fibres, and slowly built-up cells in which thought hides itself and passion has its dreams. You may fancy yourself
5safe and think yourself strong. But a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you
6had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a
7cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play--I tell you, Dorian, that it is on things like these that our
8lives depend. Browning writes about that somewhere; but our own senses will imagine them for us. There are moments when
9the odour of lilas blanc passes suddenly across me, and I have to live the strangest month of my life over again. I wish
10I could change places with you, Dorian. The world has cried out against us both, but it has always worshipped you. It
11always will worship you. You are the type of what the age is searching for, and what it is afraid it has found. I am so
12glad that you have never done anything, never carved a statue, or painted a picture, or produced anything outside of
13yourself! Life has been your art. You have set yourself to music. Your days are your sonnets." Dorian rose up from the
14piano and passed his hand through his hair. "Yes, life has been exquisite," he murmured, "but I am not going to have the
15same life, Harry. And you must not say these extravagant things to me. You don't know everything about me. I think that
16if you did, even you would turn from me. You laugh. Don't laugh." "Why have you stopped playing, Dorian? Go back and
17give me the nocturne over again. Look at that great, honey-coloured moon that hangs in the dusky air. She is waiting for
18you to charm her, and if you play she will come closer to the earth. You won't? Let us go to the club, then. It has been
19a charming evening, and we must end it charmingly. There is some one at White's who wants immensely to know you--young
20Lord Poole, Bournemouth's eldest son. He has already copied your neckties, and has begged me to introduce him to you. He
21is quite delightful and rather reminds me of you." "I hope not," said Dorian with a sad look in his eyes. "But I am
22tired to-night, Harry. I shan't go to the club. It is nearly eleven, and I want to go to bed early." "Do stay. You have
23never played so well as to-night. There was something in your touch that was wonderful. It had more expression than I
24had ever heard from it before." "It is because I am going to be good," he answered, smiling. "I am a little changed
25already." "You cannot change to me, Dorian," said Lord Henry. "You and I will always be friends." "Yet you poisoned me
26with a book once. I should not forgive that. Harry, promise me that you will never lend that book to any one. It does
27harm." "My dear boy, you are really beginning to moralize. You will soon be going about like the converted, and the
28revivalist, warning people against all the sins of which you have grown tired. You are much too delightful to do that.
29Besides, it is no use. You and I are what we are, and will be what we will be. As for being poisoned by a book, there is
30no such thing as that. Art has no influence upon action. It annihilates the desire to act. It is superbly sterile. The
31books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame. That is all. But we won't discuss
32literature. Come round to-morrow. I am going to ride at eleven. We might go together, and I will take you to lunch
33afterwards with Lady Branksome. She is a charming woman, and wants to consult you about some tapestries she is thinking
34of buying. Mind you come. Or shall we lunch with our little duchess? She says she never sees you now. Perhaps you are
35tired of Gladys? I thought you would be. Her clever tongue gets on one's nerves. Well, in any case, be here at eleven."
36"Must I really come, Harry?" "Certainly. The park is quite lovely now. I don't think there have been such lilacs since
37the year I met you." "Very well. I shall be here at eleven," said Dorian. "Good night, Harry." As he reached the door,
38he hesitated for a moment, as if he had something more to say. Then he sighed and went out.
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