Quotation from: The Picture of Dorian Gray

Written by: Oscar Wilde


The moon hung low in the sky like a yellow skull. From time to time
a huge misshapen cloud stretched a long arm across and hid it.
The gas-lamps grew fewer, and the streets more narrow and gloomy.
Once the man lost his way and had to drive back half a mile.
A steam rose from the horse as it splashed up the puddles.
The sidewindows of the hansom were clogged with a grey-flannel mist.


"To cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses
by means of the soul!" How the words rang in his ears!
His soul, certainly, was sick to death. Was it true that
the senses could cure it? Innocent blood had been spilled.
What could atone for that? Ah! for that there was no atonement;
but though forgiveness was impossible, forgetfulness was
possible still, and he was determined to forget, to stamp
the thing out, to crush it as one would crush the adder that
had stung one. Indeed, what right had Basil to have spoken
to him as he had done? Who had made him a judge over others?
He had said things that were dreadful, horrible, not to
be endured.

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