Quotes from The Picture of Do...
As he tried to repaint his Adonis, he noticed something was off. In the end, I basically blame Lord Henry for everything - this is An interesting take on the sin of vanity.
But when a portrait of him starts to age with each sin, he finds out the good looks do not atone for a life of excess and debauchery. Basil Hallward Basil is the painter of the portrait of Dorian Gray, he is a kind, morally-upright artist who believes in the power and purity of art itself.
I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Dorian Gray loves himself and his looks, and he can't accept the fact of aging and losing the beauty of youth.
He explores a world of sensual beauty, with different aromas, jewellery, embroideries and types of music, as a result of reading the novel Lord Henry has given him, "Against Nature" by Joris-Karl Huysmans.
An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
It seemed to me to have lost something. Yet the fact that he did such a poor job makes one wonder about whether or not he wanted to reveal himself. The once only true friend to Harry, the only one who seems to understand the inner workings of his brain.
Sin is the only real colour-element left in the modern life. Basil is an optimist and is simply motivated by two things, art and Dorian. Back to the novel. A widely popular communication tactic in the Victorian era, the language of flowers applies meanings and emotions to individual flowers that, when combined, produce a hidden message for the intended receiver.
Is it any wonder that with such adoration and lavish flattery, Dorian is exhilarated by the sense of his own beauty, and would pledge anything in a desperate bid for eternal youth, "Youth! The absence of use evoked at the end of the preface, then, would seem to be a kind of present absence , much like that kind of spectral presence spoken of by Derrida in much of his work see especially Specters of Marx.
What if you could be youthful forever, would you do it? Yet it is a strange mixture of styles and themes, and in common with its author has had a troubled life, with regenerations. It was certainly strange. For that — for that — I would give everything!