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作者: Oscar Wilde

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"How sad it is!" murmured Dorian Gray with his eyes still fixed
upon his own portrait. "How sad it is! I shall grow old, and
horrible, and dreadful. But this picture will remain always
young. It will never be older than this particular day of
June.... If it were only the other way! If it were I who was to
be always young, and the picture that was to 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!"
"You would hardly care for such an arrangement, Basil," cried
Lord Henry, laughing. "It would be rather hard lines on your
work."
"I should object very strongly, Harry," said Hallward.
Dorian Gray turned and looked at him. "I believe you would,
Basil. You like your art better than your friends. I am no more
to you than a green bronze figure. Hardly as much, I dare say."

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