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Kindle Edition
First published July 1, 1890
”I knew that if I spoke to Dorian I would become absolutely devoted to him and I ought not speak to him.”
It is quite true that I have worshipped you with far more romance of feeling than a man should ever give to a friend. Somehow, I had never loved a woman. (...) I quite admit that I adored you madly, extravagantly, absurdly. I was jealous of every one to whom you spoke. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happy when I was with you. When I was away from you, you were still present in my art.
Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.
[...]a new Hedonism that was to recreate life, and to save it from that harsh, uncomely puritanism that is having, in our own day, its curious revival. It was to have its service of the intellect, certainly; yet, it was never to accept any theory or system that would involve the sacrifice of any mode of passionate experience. Its aim, indeed, was to be experience itself, and not the fruits of experience, sweet or bitter as they might be.
‘Dorian, this is horrible! Something has changed you completely. You look exactly the same wonderful boy who, day after day, used to come down to my studio to sit for his picture. But you were simple, natural, and affectionate then. You were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world. Now I don’t know what has come over you. You talk as if you had no heart, no pity in you.[...]’
‘[...]Your friendship is dearer to me than any fame or reputation.’
‘It is too late, Basil,’ he faltered.
‘It is never too late, Dorian.[...]’



