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著者: Oscar Wilde

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"No, you don't feel it now. Some day, when you are old and
wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its
lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires, you
will feel it, 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. Don't frown. You have. And
beauty is a form of genius-is higher, indeed, than genius, as it
needs no explanation. It is of the great facts of the world, like
sunlight, or spring-time, or the reflection in dark waters of
that silver shell we call the moon. It cannot be questioned. It
has its divine right of sovereignty. It makes princes of those
who have it. You smile? Ah! when you have lost it you won't
smile.... People say sometimes that beauty is only superficial.
That may be so, but at least it is not so superficial as thought
is. To me, beauty is the wonder of wonders. It is only shallow
people who do not judge by appearances.

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