What is art?

What is art?
In this book, Wilde perspective of
art
is only beauty and mind.
why?
The human mind is powerful,
creative,
pathos,
and beautiful.
These are the elements
for art.
Beauty is art
because
it's set off how
art is creative.
Wilde uses his many
theories
to express art.
But he uses figurative language to
turn it into art.
So what is art?
None other than us,
the authors of our life and
creativity.

THE LAST CHAPTER...chapter 20

Oh my gosh! Dorian died! But, I guess if you live in a horrible life and theirs nothing you can do, you might as well kill yourself. Example: (pg 232-233,paragraphs 2-3)

The curiously carved mirror that Lord Henry had given to him, so many years ago now, was standing on the table, and the white-limbed Cupids laughed round it as of old. He took it up, as he had done on that night of horror when be had first noted the change in the fatal picture, and with wild, tear-dimmed eyes looked into its polished shield. Once, some one who had terribly loved him had written to him a mad letter, ending with these idolatrous words: "The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history." The phrases came back to his memory, and he repeated them over and over to himself. Then he loathed his own beauty, and flinging the mirror on the floor, crushed it into silver splinters beneath his heel. It was his beauty that had ruined him, his beauty and the youth that he had prayed for. But for those two things, his life might have been free from stain. His beauty had been to him but a mask, his youth but a mockery. What was youth at best? A green, an unripe time, a time of shallow moods, and sickly thoughts. Why had he worn its livery? Youth had spoiled him.

It was better not to think of the past. Nothing could alter that. It was of himself, and of his own future, that he had to think. James Vane was hidden in a nameless grave in Selby churchyard. Alan Campbell had shot himself one night in his laboratory, but had not revealed the secret that he had been forced to know. The excitement, such as it was, over Basil Hallward's disappearance would soon pass away. It was already waning. He was perfectly safe there. Nor, indeed, was it the death of Basil Hallward that weighed most upon his mind. It was the living death of his own soul that troubled him. Basil had painted the portrait that had marred his life. He could not forgive him that. It was the portrait that had done everything. Basil had said things to him that were unbearable, and that he had yet borne with patience. The murder had been simply the madness of a moment. As for Alan Campbell, his suicide had been his own act. He had chosen to do it. It was nothing to him.

But too bad he wasn't alive to know his secret to bring the youth and clean of his picture was to stab the picture. But I guess thats what happens when you really live for your beauty and not for yourself minus your beauty.

chapter 19

I read this chapter like twice, to understand what I read. It was only Harry and Dorian talking. But I did learn more lie Harry's wife left him for another guy, Alan suicided himself, and Dorian found a girl he loves, but had to leave her because she had a man. Poor Dorian.But what keeps me wondering is whatever happen to painting. Harry said something about it. Example: (paragraph 4, pg 225-226)

"Yes," he continued, turning round and taking his handkerchief out of his pocket; "his painting had quite gone off. It seemed to me to have lost something. It had lost an ideal. When you and he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great artist. What was it separated you? I suppose he bored you. If so, he never forgave you. It's a habit bores have. By the way, what has become of that wonderful portrait he did of you? I don't think I have ever seen it since he finished it. Oh! I remember your telling me years ago that you had sent it down to Selby, and that it had got mislaid or stolen on the way. You never got it back? What a pity! it was really a masterpiece. I remember I wanted to buy it. I wish I had now. It belonged to Basil's best period. Since then, his work was that curious mixture of bad painting and good intentions that always entitles a man to be called a representative British artist. Did you advertise for it? You should."

But did that really happen?

DUMB LUCK!

This Dorian Gray has some dumb luck! I wish I had luck. But anyways, why do I say he has dumb luck? It's because James was shot party.

It all happen when Dorian went to the party was with Sir Geoffrey. Geoffrey found a perfect hare (poor hare) to shoot at.But Dorian, showing his soft side, said not to shoot the hare. But he did anyways. When he shoot the hare, he shot someone else. He shot a man. At that point, it was a rude waking. Why? He thought he was close to death. Example: (pg 214-215, paragraphs 7-11)

"What is?" asked Lord Henry. "Oh! this accident, I suppose. My dear fellow, it can't be helped. It was the man's own fault. Why did he get in front of the guns? Besides, it is nothing to us. It is rather awkward for Geoffrey, of course. It does not do to pepper beaters. It makes people think that one is a wild shot. And Geoffrey is not; he shoots very straight. But there is no use talking about the matter."

Dorian shook his head. "It is a bad omen, Harry. I feel as if something horrible were going to happen to some of us. To myself, perhaps," he added, passing his hand over his eyes, with a gesture of pain.

The elder man laughed. "The only horrible thing in the world is ennui, Dorian. That is the one sin for which there is no forgiveness. But we are not likely to suffer from it unless these fellows keep chattering about this thing at dinner. I must tell them that the subject is to be tabooed. As for omens, there is no such thing as an omen. Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that. Besides, what on earth could happen to you, Dorian? You have everything in the world that a man can want. There is no one who would not be delighted to change places with you."

"There is no one with whom I would not change places, Harry. Don't laugh like that. I am telling you the truth. The wretched peasant who has just died is better off than I am. I have no terror of death. It is the coming of death that terrifies me. Its monstrous wings seem to wheel in the leaden air around me. Good heavens! don't you see a man moving behind the trees there, watching me, waiting for me?"

I would be a wreck too if I was close to death. Later on, he went to his house and the gamekeeper came over to talk about the man who was killed. As the gamekeeper started to describe the man (tattooed on both arms,rough, sailor type), Dorian thought he knew the man. I did too and it was James' corpse. I wish I had luck like that, but then I don't.

chapter 17

Gosh! This chapter was somewhat complex to me because everyone was speaking metaphorically. The reason why I say it's complex was because I kept on forgetting who was talking. But I guess it's all thanks to a girl who likes Dorian. Her name is Gladys and she's Harry's cousin. She sounds like she likes to hear the both argue metaphorically. Example: (pg 208-209, paragraphs 13-20)

"Even when one has been wounded by it, Harry?" asked the duchess after a pause.

"Especially when one has been wounded by it," answered Lord Henry.

The duchess turned and looked at Dorian Gray with a curious expression in her eyes. "What do you say to that, Mr. Gray?" she inquired.

Dorian hesitated for a moment. Then he threw his head back and laughed. "I always agree with Harry, Duchess."

"Even when he is wrong?"

"Harry is never wrong, Duchess."

"And does his philosophy make you happy?"

She starts arguments because it's her way of flirting. But I agree with Lord Henry when he says " You are flirting disgracefully with him".(line 19,pg209) I think that has to be the 2nd thing he said that I agree.

At the wrong place at the wong time

My question is answered. Well at least one of my many questions are answered. I think he went to a den (well it sounded like den to me) and in their, he met one of his many friends Adrian. I don't understand why he's their, but he almost go murdered! I guess you can say he ran into a place where he almost met his maker. I guess its also "at the wrong place at the wrong time". Before he left the place, these two hags called him "Prince Charming" and a sailor looked at him funny.

As he walking, deep into his thoughts, someone had him against the wall. Example: (pg 202-203 paragraph 1-12)

He struggled madly for life, and by a terrible effort wrenched the tightening fingers away. In a second he heard the click of a revolver, and saw the gleam of a polished barrel, pointing straight at his head, and the dusky form of a short, thick-set man facing him.

"What do you want?" he gasped.

"Keep quiet," said the man. "If you stir, I shoot you."

"You are mad. What have I done to you?"

"You wrecked the life of Sibyl Vane," was the answer, "and Sibyl Vane was my sister. She killed herself. I know it. Her death is at your door. I swore I would kill you in return. For years I have sought you. I had no clue, no trace. The two people who could have described you were dead. I knew nothing of you but the pet name she used to call you. I heard it to-night by chance. Make your peace with God, for to-night you are going to die."

Dorian Gray grew sick with fear. "I never knew her," he stammered. "I never heard of her. You are mad."

"You had better confess your sin, for as sure as I am James Vane, you are going to die." There was a horrible moment. Dorian did not know what to say or do. "Down on your knees!" growled the man. "I give you one minute to make your peace--no more. I go on board to-night for India, and I must do my job first. One minute. That's all."

Dorian's arms fell to his side. Paralysed with terror, he did not know what to do. Suddenly a wild hope flashed across his brain. "Stop," he cried. "How long ago is it since your sister died? Quick, tell me!"

"Eighteen years," said the man. "Why do you ask me? What do years matter?"

"Eighteen years," laughed Dorian Gray, with a touch of triumph in his voice. "Eighteen years! Set me under the lamp and look at my face!"

James Vane hesitated for a moment, not understanding what was meant. Then he seized Dorian Gray and dragged him from the archway.

Dim and wavering as was the wind-blown light, yet it served to show him the hideous error, as it seemed, into which he had fallen, for the face of the man he had sought to kill had all the bloom of boyhood, all the unstained purity of youth. He seemed little more than a lad of twenty summers, hardly older, if older indeed at all, than his sister had been when they had parted so many years ago. It was obvious that this was not the man who had destroyed her life.

He loosened his hold and reeled back. "My God! my God!" he cried, "and I would have murdered you!"

His maker was not other than his first love's brother, James. It must it have a been a scary yet he thought on his feet quick. He used his "mask" of youth to fool him. Dorian is not also complex, but sly like fox.

chapter 15

Ugh! I really want to kill Harry! This has to be the most bothersome character I ever read! Every thing he says are just theories! Then he just contradictes everything he says! He's the reason why Dorian turned into a monster! I would've murdered him than Basil. But then without him, this brook would be dead to me.

Well, this chapter sounds really familiar to one of the chapters in the beginning of the book. Dorian goes to a dinner and as usual, Harry comes in late. As they were talking, Harry asked him a question. Finally, Dorian told him that he asks to many personal questions. In other words, HE'S WAY TOO NOSY! Example: (pg 194, paragraph 1) "Yes," he answered. Then he bit his lip. "No, I don't mean that. I didn't go to the club. I walked about. I forget what I did. . . . How inquisitive you are, Harry! You always want to know what one has been doing. I always want to forget what I have been doing. I came in at half-past two, if you wish to know the exact time. I had left my latch-key at home, and my servant had to let me in. If you want any corroborative evidence on the subject, you can ask him."

But at the end of the chapter, it kept me wondering because he went somewhere in the middle of the night.

WHAT A MASTERMIND!!!!

Dorian has changed from innocent to just plain evil! I thought he would be a nice a guy who lives in an ordinary town and finds a painting of himself. But, I was wrong, as usual. He's a mastermind behind Basil's murder!

In this chapter, he writes a letter to a man to come over to his house. His name is Alan Campbell and he's a scientist and was once friends with Dorian. The reason why he asks him to come over to his house is because he thinks he can use scientific brain to get rid of Basil's corpse. I didn't expect Dorian to concoct a plan like that! But since they were once friends, he said no. I would say the same thing to if I had to be part of post-murder's plan. Since he wouldn't help him, he black-mailed him! But I wonder what he black mailed? Anyways, he said yes and he was going to get his scientist things, but Dorian sent one of his servants to get his stuff. I wonder why Wilde turned Dorian to a complex character? But I guess because it makes the tone and the book more interesting.

After his servant got Alan's stuff, since it was a big chest, Alan had to carry it from the 1st floor, to all the top of the house! So Dorian went first, so he can open the door. The first he noticed was that his painting was uncovered and it changed more! Example: (paragraph 3-4, pg 185)

What was that loathsome red dew that gleamed, wet and glistening, on one of the hands, as though the canvas had sweated blood? How horrible it was!--more horrible, it seemed to him for the moment, than the silent thing that he knew was stretched across the table, the thing whose grotesque misshapen shadow on the spotted carpet showed him that it had not stirred, but was still there, as he had left it.

He heaved a deep breath, opened the door a little wider, and with half-closed eyes and averted head, walked quickly in, determined that he would not look even once upon the dead man. Then, stooping down and taking up the gold-and-purple hanging, he flung it right over the picture.

So, right before he came, he covered because he doesn't want no one to see his ugliness in the painting. As soon as he covered it, he left the room and was waiting for Alan. As soon as he step into the room, he locked it went to work. But I can't believe he locked him self in a room with a dead man! I would've cried to death!

It took him 5 hours to get rid of the body! But I wonder what he did. As soon as he came down, he said Dorian, "And now good-bye. Let us never see each other again". (lines 2-3,pg 186) But Dorian really surprised me in this chapter.

MURDER IN CHAPTER 13!

Oh my gosh! This chapter is so cool, yet sad. Dorian killed his only friend! Why did he did such a thing? Th man was only trying to save him before he turns into a monster. Example: (pg 170-171, paragraphs 2-11)

"Good God, Dorian, what a lesson! What an awful lesson!" There was no answer, but he could hear the young man sobbing at the window. "Pray, Dorian, pray," he murmured. "What is it that one was taught to say in one's boyhood? 'Lead us not into temptation. Forgive us our sins. Wash away our iniquities.' Let us say that together. The prayer of your pride has been answered. The prayer of your repentance will be answered also. I worshipped you too much. I am punished for it. You worshipped yourself too much. We are both punished."

Dorian Gray turned slowly around and looked at him with tear-dimmed eyes. "It is too late, Basil," he faltered.

"It is never too late, Dorian. Let us kneel down and try if we cannot remember a prayer. Isn't there a verse somewhere, 'Though your sins be as scarlet, yet I will make them as white as snow'?"

"Those words mean nothing to me now."

"Hush! Don't say that. You have done enough evil in your life. My God! Don't you see that accursed thing leering at us?"

Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him, as though it had been suggested to him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his ear by those grinning lips. The mad passions of a hunted animal stirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table, more than in his whole life he had ever loathed anything. He glanced wildly around. Something glimmered on the top of the painted chest that faced him. His eye fell on it. He knew what it was. It was a knife that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a piece of cord, and had forgotten to take away with him. He moved slowly towards it, passing Hallward as he did so. As soon as he got behind him, he seized it and turned round. Hallward stirred in his chair as if he was going to rise. He rushed at him and dug the knife into the great vein that is behind the ear, crushing the man's head down on the table and stabbing again and again.

There was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of some one choking with blood. Three times the outstretched arms shot up convulsively, waving grotesque, stiff-fingered hands in the air. He stabbed him twice more, but the man did not move. Something began to trickle on the floor. He waited for a moment, still pressing the head down. Then he threw the knife on the table, and listened.

He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet. He opened the door and went out on the landing. The house was absolutely quiet. No one was about. For a few seconds he stood bending over the balustrade and peering down into the black seething well of darkness. Then he took out the key and returned to the room, locking himself in as he did so.

The thing was still seated in the chair, straining over the table with bowed head, and humped back, and long fantastic arms. Had it not been for the red jagged tear in the neck and the clotted black pool that was slowly widening on the table, one would have said that the man was simply asleep.

How quickly it had all been done! He felt strangely calm, and walking over to the window, opened it and stepped out on the balcony. The wind had blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock's tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes. He looked down and saw the policeman going his rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on the doors of the silent houses. The crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner and then vanished. A woman in a fluttering shawl was creeping slowly by the railings, staggering as she went. Now and then she stopped and peered back. Once, she began to sing in a hoarse voice. The policeman strolled over and said something to her. She stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast swept across the square. The gas-lamps flickered and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their black iron branches to and fro. He shivered and went back, closing the window behind him.

This murder was made in a blink of an eye! But, it's Dorian is starting to talk and act like Harry. But, it's funny how this whole thing started with the meeting of Harry. Dorian is now sly, but I didn't expect that from him He turned form a predicted character to a complex character.He's now planning his story if they suspect him for Basil's murder. Example: (pg 173,paragraph 13)

Dorian Gray threw his hat and coat upon the table and passed into the library. For a quarter of an hour he walked up and down the room, biting his lip and thinking. Then he took down the Blue Book from one of the shelves and began to turn over the leaves. "Alan Campbell, 152, Hertford Street, Mayfair." Yes; that was the man he wanted.

Wilde's book turned from dramatic to suspenseful. I find this strange for Wilde to do,but he's known for that.

all the peices are coming together

All the pieces are starting to come together.It's Nov. 9 and it's Dorian's B-day. He's walking home until he sees his old friend, Basil. Basil is amazed to see him and needs to tell him something. Basil goes over to Dorian's home and tells him things he heard about him. Well, so far, he tells him about rumors he heard. Dorian in a way, tells him to mind his own business as he responds to say if their true or false. But, I understand why he's over. Example: (paragraphs 6-11, pg 166)

A twisted flash of pain shot across the painter's face. He paused for a moment, and a wild feeling of pity came over him. After all, what right had he to pry into the life of Dorian Gray? If he had done a tithe of what was rumoured about him, how much he must have suffered! Then he straightened himself up, and walked over to the fire-place, and stood there, looking at the burning logs with their frostlike ashes and their throbbing cores of flame.

"I am waiting, Basil," said the young man in a hard clear voice.

He turned round. "What I have to say is this," he cried. "You must give me some answer to these horrible charges that are made against you. If you tell me that they are absolutely untrue from beginning to end, I shall believe you. Deny them, Dorian, deny them! Can't you see what I am going through? My God! don't tell me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful."

Dorian Gray smiled. There was a curl of contempt in his lips. "Come upstairs, Basil," he said quietly. "I keep a diary of my life from day to day, and it never leaves the room in which it is written. I shall show it to you if you come with me."

"I shall come with you, Dorian, if you wish it. I see I have missed my train. That makes no matter. I can go to-morrow. But don't ask me to read anything to-night. All I want is a plain answer to my question."

"That shall be given to you upstairs. I could not give it here. You will not have to read long."

I really don't understand what basil needs to tell him.

chapter 11

WOW! This has to be the 2nd largest chapter I ever read, besides the Harry Potter books. I thought it would never end! Well, actually, to say the truth, I really I didn't understand what was the point of Wilde was trying to say. I understand that it's reflecting about Dorian's life so far. I never want to read a chapter like that in my life!

chapter 10...boring

Well this chapter was boring. Theirs nothing to say, but this chapter wasn't necessary to write. All Dorian did was put away his painting in a room he can only come in. What a waste of time to read a chapter like that.

SUSPENSEFUL!

I love this chapter! Why? It's so suspenseful. I thought the last chapter was interesting, but gosh, this chapter was just simply interesting. Dorian and Basil are starting to change. But, what sparked this sudden change. None other than the famous Harry. Basil noticed that Dorian changed from a pure innocent boy to a heartless man. Example: (pg 123 paragraph 5-6)

"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. It is all Harry's influence. I see that."

The lad flushed up and, going to the window, looked out for a few moments on the green, flickering, sun-lashed garden. "I owe a great deal to Harry, Basil," he said at last, "more than I owe to you. You only taught me to be vain."

Basil came over to get his painting, but Dorian doesn't want to due to the facial expression in the painting. I noticed he turned very vain. But then , Dorian remembers something Lord Henry said to him that Basil had told him something about the painting. Dorian, being nosy, ask him is had a secret behind the painting. I don't understand the secret, but what I got was that Basil worshiped him. I find that very creepy. Example: (paragraph 8, pg 128-130).

"I see you did. Don't speak. Wait till you hear what I have to say. Dorian, from the moment I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. I was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you. You became to me the visible incarnation of that unseen ideal whose memory haunts us artists like an exquisite dream. I worshipped you. I grew 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 you were away from me, you were still present in my art.... Of course, I never let you know anything about this. It would have been impossible. You would not have understood it. I hardly understood it myself. I only knew that I had seen perfection face to face, and that the world had become wonderful to my eyes-- too wonderful, perhaps, for in such mad worships there is peril, the peril of losing them, no less than the peril of keeping them.... Weeks and weeks went on, and I grew more and more absorbed in you. Then came a new development. I had drawn you as Paris in dainty armour, and as Adonis with huntsman's cloak and polished boar-spear. Crowned with heavy lotus-blossoms you had sat on the prow of Adrian's barge, gazing across the green turbid Nile. You had leaned over the still pool of some Greek woodland and seen in the water's silent silver the marvel of your own face. And it had all been what art should be--unconscious, ideal, and remote. One day, a fatal day I sometimes think, I determined to paint a wonderful portrait of you as you actually are, not in the costume of dead ages, but in your own dress and in your own time. Whether it was the realism of the method, or the mere wonder of your own personality, thus directly presented to me without mist or veil, I cannot tell. But I know that as I worked at it, every flake and film of colour seemed to me to reveal my secret. I grew afraid that others would know of my idolatry. I felt, Dorian, that I had told too much, that I had put too much of myself into it. Then it was that I resolved never to allow the picture to be exhibited. You were a little annoyed; but then you did not realize all that it meant to me. Harry, to whom I talked about it, laughed at me. But I did not mind that. When the picture was finished, and I sat alone with it, I felt that I was right.... Well, after a few days the thing left my studio, and as soon as I had got rid of the intolerable fascination of its presence, it seemed to me that I had been foolish in imagining that I had seen anything in it, more than that you were extremely good-looking and that I could paint. Even now I cannot help feeling that it is a mistake to think that the passion one feels in creation is ever really shown in the work one creates. Art is always more abstract than we fancy. Form and colour tell us of form and colour--that is all. It often seems to me that art conceals the artist far more completely than it ever reveals him. And so when I got this offer from Paris, I determined to make your portrait the principal thing in my exhibition. It never occurred to me that you would refuse. I see now that you were right. The picture cannot be shown. You must not be angry with me, Dorian, for what I have told you. As I said to Harry, once, you are made to be worshipped."

Right after he told him his secret, he asked if he can see his painting again. But Dorian said no.So Basil said good-bye and left. Just for a stupid painting! That's so absurd and stupid! Basil sounded like he ended their friendship! Example: (paragraph 9-10, pg 1310

"Pleasanter for you, I am afraid," murmured Hallward regretfully. "And now good-bye. I am sorry you won't let me look at the picture once again. But that can't be helped. I quite understand what you feel about it."

As he left the room, Dorian Gray smiled to himself. Poor Basil! How little he knew of the true reason! And bow strange it was that, instead of having been forced to reveal his own secret, he had succeeded, almost by chance, in wresting a secret from his friend! How much that strange confession explained to him! The painter's absurd fits of jealousy, his wild devotion, his extravagant panegyrics, his curious reticences-- he understood them all now, and he felt sorry. There seemed to him to be something tragic in a friendship so coloured by romance.

no sibyl DIED!

Oh my gosh, Sibyl died! I would've never expected that to happen. I am so surprised! The character I thought that was interesting is dead now! Example: (paragraph 10-16, pg 122-113)

Lord Henry walked across the room, and sitting down by Dorian Gray, took both his hands in his own and held them tightly. "Dorian," he said, "my letter--don't be frightened--was to tell you that Sibyl Vane is dead."

A cry of pain broke from the lad's lips, and he leaped to his feet, tearing his hands away from Lord Henry's grasp. "Dead! Sibyl dead! It is not true! It is a horrible lie! How dare you say it?"

"It is quite true, Dorian," said Lord Henry, gravely. "It is in all the morning papers. I wrote down to you to ask you not to see any one till I came. There will have to be an inquest, of course, and you must not be mixed up in it. Things like that make a man fashionable in Paris. But in London people are so prejudiced. Here, one should never make one's debut with a scandal. One should reserve that to give an interest to one's old age. I suppose they don't know your name at the theatre? If they don't, it is all right. Did any one see you going round to her room? That is an important point."

Dorian did not answer for a few moments. He was dazed with horror. Finally he stammered, in a stifled voice, "Harry, did you say an inquest? What did you mean by that? Did Sibyl--? Oh, Harry, I can't bear it! But be quick. Tell me everything at once."

"I have no doubt it was not an accident, Dorian, though it must be put in that way to the public. It seems that as she was leaving the theatre with her mother, about half-past twelve or so, she said she had forgotten something upstairs. They waited some time for her, but she did not come down again. They ultimately found her lying dead on the floor of her dressing-room. She had swallowed something by mistake, some dreadful thing they use at theatres. I don't know what it was, but it had either prussic acid or white lead in it. I should fancy it was prussic acid, as she seems to have died instantaneously."

"Harry, Harry, it is terrible!" cried the lad.

I was seriously shocked and so surprised that she died. I almost wanted to cry! But poor Dorian. He has to live with the guilt for the rest of his "young" life. He learned that the love of his life died last night- just a few hours after their argument. But, it was nice how Lord Henry described Sibyl's death. He said she was never dead, but not alive. She acted out many character's death and know death is. Example:(pg 117-118, paragraph 6-8)

"You said to me that Sibyl Vane represented to you all the heroines of romance--that she was Desdemona one night, and Ophelia the other; that if she died as Juliet, she came to life as Imogen."

"She will never come to life again now," muttered the lad, burying his face in his hands.

"No, she will never come to life. She has played her last part. But you must think of that lonely death in the tawdry dressing-room simply as a strange lurid fragment from some Jacobean tragedy, as a wonderful scene from Webster, or Ford, or Cyril Tourneur. The girl never really lived, and so she has never really died. To you at least she was always a dream, a phantom that flitted through Shakespeare's plays and left them lovelier for its presence, a reed through which Shakespeare's music sounded richer and more full of joy. The moment she touched actual life, she marred it, and it marred her, and so she passed away. Mourn for Ophelia, if you like. Put ashes on your head because Cordelia was strangled. Cry out against Heaven because the daughter of Brabantio died. But don't waste your tears over Sibyl Vane. She was less real than they are."

But, I guess you can say "Every throne has a rose" because he can act mean and ignorant, but he has a soft side to him. R.I.P. Sibyl Vane.

love in the high seas on chapter 7

Chapter 7 is based on Dorian's love. Since Sibyl acts in 3 different shows, tonight's show is "Romeo and Juliet". But of course, she's Juliet. But tonight, she sounded like a bad actress. But it's funny how Harry and Basil left because of her bad acting. Example: (pg 98-99)

Yet she was curiously listless. She showed no sign of joy when her eyes rested on Romeo. The few words she had to speak--

    Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
     Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
 For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
     And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss--

with the brief dialogue that follows, were spoken in a thoroughly artificial manner. The voice was exquisite, but from the point of view of tone it was absolutely false. It was wrong in colour. It took away all the life from the verse. It made the passion unreal.

Dorian Gray grew pale as he watched her. He was puzzled and anxious. Neither of his friends dared to say anything to him. She seemed to them to be absolutely incompetent. They were horribly disappointed.

Yet they felt that the true test of any Juliet is the balcony scene of the second act. They waited for that. If she failed there, there was nothing in her.

She looked charming as she came out in the moonlight. That could not be denied. But the staginess of her acting was unbearable, and grew worse as she went on. Her gestures became absurdly artificial. She overemphasized everything that she had to say. The beautiful passage--

    Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face,
 Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
 For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night--

was declaimed with the painful precision of a schoolgirl who has been taught to recite by some second-rate professor of elocution. When she leaned over the balcony and came to those wonderful lines--

        Although I joy in thee,
 I have no joy of this contract to-night:
 It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
 Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
 Ere one can say, "It lightens."  Sweet, good-night!
 This bud of love by summer's ripening breath
 May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet--

she spoke the words as though they conveyed no meaning to her. It was not nervousness. Indeed, so far from being nervous, she was absolutely self-contained. It was simply bad art. She was a complete failure.

Even the common uneducated audience of the pit and gallery lost their interest in the play. They got restless, and began to talk loudly and to whistle. The Jew manager, who was standing at the back of the dress-circle, stamped and swore with rage. The only person unmoved was the girl herself.

When the second act was over, there came a storm of hisses, and Lord Henry got up from his chair and put on his coat. "She is quite beautiful, Dorian," he said, "but she can't act. Let us go."

"I am going to see the play through," answered the lad, in a hard bitter voice. "I am awfully sorry that I have made you waste an evening, Harry. I apologize to you both."

"My dear Dorian, I should think Miss Vane was ill," interrupted Hallward. "We will come some other night."

"I wish she were ill," he rejoined. "But she seems to me to be simply callous and cold. She has entirely altered. Last night she was a great artist. This evening she is merely a commonplace mediocre actress."

"Don't talk like that about any one you love, Dorian. Love is a more wonderful thing than art."

"They are both simply forms of imitation," remarked Lord Henry. "But do let us go. Dorian, you must not stay here any longer. It is not good for one's morals to see bad acting. Besides, I don't suppose you will want your wife to act, so what does it matter if she plays Juliet like a wooden doll? She is very lovely, and if she knows as little about life as she does about acting, she will be a delightful experience. There are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating-- people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing. Good heavens, my dear boy, don't look so tragic! The secret of remaining young is never to have an emotion that is unbecoming. Come to the club with Basil and myself. We will smoke cigarettes and drink to the beauty of Sibyl Vane. She is beautiful. What more can you want?"

"Go away, Harry," cried the lad. "I want to be alone. Basil, you must go. Ah! can't you see that my heart is breaking?" The hot tears came to his eyes. His lips trembled, and rushing to the back of the box, he leaned up against the wall, hiding his face in his hands.

"Let us go, Basil," said Lord Henry with a strange tenderness in his voice, and the two young men passed out together.

I thought Sibyl was just over thinking her marriage while she was acting. But I was wrong...as usual. The reason why she was acting so horriable was because Dorian showed her the meaning of reality love. Example: (paragraphs 5-12, pg 100-102)

When he entered, she looked at him, and an expression of infinite joy came over her. "How badly I acted to-night, Dorian!" she cried.

"Horribly!" he answered, gazing at her in amazement. "Horribly! It was dreadful. Are you ill? You have no idea what it was. You have no idea what I suffered."

The girl smiled. "Dorian," she answered, lingering over his name with long-drawn music in her voice, as though it were sweeter than honey to the red petals of her mouth. "Dorian, you should have understood. But you understand now, don't you?"

"Understand what?" he asked, angrily.

"Why I was so bad to-night. Why I shall always be bad. Why I shall never act well again."

He shrugged his shoulders. "You are ill, I suppose. When you are ill you shouldn't act. You make yourself ridiculous. My friends were bored. I was bored."

She seemed not to listen to him. She was transfigured with joy. An ecstasy of happiness dominated her.

"Dorian, Dorian," she cried, "before I knew you, acting was the one reality of my life. It was only in the theatre that I lived. I thought that it was all true. I was Rosalind one night and Portia the other. The joy of Beatrice was my joy, and the sorrows of Cordelia were mine also. I believed in everything. The common people who acted with me seemed to me to be godlike. The painted scenes were my world. I knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real. You came--oh, my beautiful love!-- and you freed my soul from prison. You taught me what reality really is. To-night, for the first time in my life, I saw through the hollowness, the sham, the silliness of the empty pageant in which I had always played. To-night, for the first time, I became conscious that the Romeo was hideous, and old, and painted, that the moonlight in the orchard was false, that the scenery was vulgar, and that the words I had to speak were unreal, were not my words, were not what I wanted to say. You had brought me something higher, something of which all art is but a reflection. You had made me understand what love really is. My love! My love! Prince Charming! Prince of life! I have grown sick of shadows. You are more to me than all art can ever be. What have I to do with the puppets of a play? When I came on to-night, I could not understand how it was that everything had gone from me. I thought that I was going to be wonderful. I found that I could do nothing. Suddenly it dawned on my soul what it all meant. The knowledge was exquisite to me. I heard them hissing, and I smiled. What could they know of love such as ours? Take me away, Dorian--take me away with you, where we can be quite alone. I hate the stage. I might mimic a passion that I do not feel, but I cannot mimic one that burns me like fire. Oh, Dorian, Dorian, you understand now what it signifies? Even if I could do it, it would be profanation for me to play at being in love. You have made me see that."

I understand why she did that, but I think it wasn't necessary to do it in her act. Then Dorian started to regret for falling in love with her and over reacting to her act tonight.
Example:(paragraph 4, pg 102)Then he leaped up and went to the door. "Yes," he cried, "you have killed my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don't even stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because you were marvellous, because you had genius and intellect, because you realized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and stupid. My God! how mad I was to love you! What a fool I have been! You are nothing to me now. I will never see you again. I will never think of you. I will never mention your name. You don't know what you were to me, once. Why, once . . . Oh, I can't bear to think of it! I wish I had never laid eyes upon you! You have spoiled the romance of my life. How little you can know of love, if you say it mars your art! Without your art, you are nothing. I would have made you famous, splendid, magnificent. The world would have worshipped you, and you would have borne my name. What are you now? A third-rate actress with a pretty face."

He then storms out of the theater, going home. I find it stupid for a person to do such a thing, fighting over someone's acting and only falling in love because of her acting and beauty, and not her personality or life.
Once he gets home, he finds something strange of his painting. His facial expression turned from serious to an evil grin.He then remembers something said to Basil. Example: (paragraph 4, pg 105-106)

He threw himself into a chair and began to think. Suddenly there flashed across his mind what he had said in Basil Hallward's studio the day the picture had been finished. Yes, he remembered it perfectly. He had uttered a mad wish that he himself might remain young, and the portrait grow old; that his own beauty might be untarnished, and the face on the canvas bear the burden of his passions and his sins; that the painted image might be seared with the lines of suffering and thought, and that he might keep all the delicate bloom and loveliness of his then just conscious boyhood. Surely his wish had not been fulfilled? Such things were impossible. It seemed monstrous even to think of them. And, yet, there was the picture before him, with the touch of cruelty in the mouth.

He realizes his sins are reflected upon his painting. He then realizes that he should act like a saint, and get back with her. I doubt that she will not get back with him. Poor boy.

"To be good is to be in harmony withone's self"

In this chapter, Lord Henry tells Basil that Dorian is getting married. Like Lord Henry, Basil disapproves the action he took. Right before Dorian steps in, Lord Henry talks about what he thinks of him getting married. Example:(paragraphs 7-9 pg. 89-90)

"But do you approve of it, Harry?" asked the painter, walking up and down the room and biting his lip. "You can't approve of it, possibly. It is some silly infatuation."

"I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd attitude to take towards life. We are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices. I never take any notice of what common people say, and I never interfere with what charming people do. If a personality fascinates me, whatever mode of expression that personality selects is absolutely delightful to me. Dorian Gray falls in love with a beautiful girl who acts Juliet, and proposes to marry her. Why not? If he wedded Messalina, he would be none the less interesting. You know I am not a champion of marriage. The real drawback to marriage is that it makes one unselfish. And unselfish people are colourless. They lack individuality. Still, there are certain temperaments that marriage makes more complex. They retain their egotism, and add to it many other egos. They are forced to have more than one life. They become more highly organized, and to be highly organized is, I should fancy, the object of man's existence. Besides, every experience is of value, and whatever one may say against marriage, it is certainly an experience. I hope that Dorian Gray will make this girl his wife, passionately adore her for six months, and then suddenly become fascinated by some one else. He would be a wonderful study."

Lord Henry sounds like he has second thoughts to Dorian's engagement, but he always does have second thoughts to everything. Then comes in Dorian, all happy and what not. The reason he's so glad ids because Harry(Lord Henry) and Basil are going to see Sibyl act. Dorian talks about how he's happy he found the "suppose" love of his life. Example: ( paragraph 8 pg 90-92)

"There is really not much to tell," cried Dorian as they took their seats at the small round table. "What happened was simply this. After I left you yesterday evening, Harry, I dressed, had some dinner at that little Italian restaurant in Rupert Street you introduced me to, and went down at eight o'clock to the theatre. Sibyl was playing Rosalind. Of course, the scenery was dreadful and the Orlando absurd. But Sibyl! You should have seen her! When she came on in her boy's clothes, she was perfectly wonderful. She wore a moss-coloured velvet jerkin with cinnamon sleeves, slim, brown, cross-gartered hose, a dainty little green cap with a hawk's feather caught in a jewel, and a hooded cloak lined with dull red. She had never seemed to me more exquisite. She had all the delicate grace of that Tanagra figurine that you have in your studio, Basil. Her hair clustered round her face like dark leaves round a pale rose. As for her acting--well, you shall see her to-night. She is simply a born artist. I sat in the dingy box absolutely enthralled. I forgot that I was in London and in the nineteenth century. I was away with my love in a forest that no man had ever seen. After the performance was over, I went behind and spoke to her. As we were sitting together, suddenly there came into her eyes a look that I had never seen there before. My lips moved towards hers. We kissed each other. I can't describe to you what I felt at that moment. It seemed to me that all my life had been narrowed to one perfect point of rose-coloured joy. She trembled all over and shook like a white narcissus. Then she flung herself on her knees and kissed my hands. I feel that I should not tell you all this, but I can't help it. Of course, our engagement is a dead secret. She has not even told her own mother. I don't know what my guardians will say. Lord Radley is sure to be furious. I don't care. I shall be of age in less than a year, and then I can do what I like. I have been right, Basil, haven't I, to take my love out of poetry and to find my wife in Shakespeare's plays? Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their secret in my ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around me, and kissed Juliet on the mouth."

Dorian is now starting to talk like Harry, all dramatic and what not. Then, Harry talks about being good and feeling pleasure. A quote I like is "To be good is to be in harmony with one's self." ( paragraph 7, pg93) because first of all, I can relate and second, it's true. I can relate because when your good, good things happen to you. It sort of reminds me off karma in a way. As Harry talks about pleasure and being good, Basil and Dorian question his theory. Well to say the truth, I've been waiting for one of them to question his theory. FINALLY!

Questioning love in chapter 5

Well, so far in this chapter, I'm starting to know this Sibyl character. Well, she seems very innocent and gentle, and in need of someone to protect her. It's funny how young people these days will get married to anyone, like Internet dating. Sibyl lives with her mother and her brother. But, her brother will be leaving soon because he has to go to Australia. I don't know why he's going to Australia, but he told their mother to keep an eye on her. Her brother, I think, thinks of her as innocent. An example, her brother says,"I wish I had, for as sure as there is a God in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, I shall kill him." He said this because he thought she's foolish to say yes to a person she don't know well. I agree with him. She doesn't even know his name! Example:

"You have a new friend, I hear. Who is he? Why have you not told me about him? He means you no good."

"Stop, Jim!" she exclaimed. "You must not say anything against him. I love him."

"Why, you don't even know his name," answered the lad. "Who is he? I have a right to know."

"He is called Prince Charming. Don't you like the name. Oh! you silly boy! you should never forget it. If you only saw him, you would think him the most wonderful person in the world. Some day you will meet him--when you come back from Australia. You will like him so much. Everybody likes him, and I ... love him. I wish you could come to the theatre to-night. He is going to be there, and I am to play Juliet. Oh! how I shall play it! Fancy, Jim, to be in love and play Juliet! To have him sitting there! To play for his delight! I am afraid I may frighten the company, frighten or enthrall them. To be in love is to surpass one's self. Poor dreadful Mr. Isaacs will be shouting 'genius' to his loafers at the bar. He has preached me as a dogma; to-night he will announce me as a revelation. I feel it. And it is all his, his only, Prince Charming, my wonderful lover, my god of graces. But I am poor beside him. Poor? What does that matter? When poverty creeps in at the door, love flies in through the window. Our proverbs want rewriting. They were made in winter, and it is summer now; spring-time for me, I think, a very dance of blossoms in blue skies."

Well, I guess that's what you call puppy love in a way.

If one hears bad music, it is one's duty to drown it in conversation.

Now I am up to the fourth chapter. This chapter wasn't that bad than I thought. It was good. The end of the chapter always end up with suspense. I don't know why, but the end of each chapter in Wilde's book is suspenseful to me, making me want to know what's going to happen next.

Their are 2 new characters now and I want to know more about the other one. The first character is Lord Henry's wife, Victoria. Dorian met Victoria while he was waiting for Lord Henry. They had a conversation about theater music. In the book, Victoria said to her husband that their conversation was rather interesting. Well, they were only telling each other opinions about speaking when their hearing music.

The character I want to know more is Sibyl Vane. This woman is Dorian's love interest. Right now, I know that she's an actress who lives with her mother and performs at night. What makes me want to know more about this character is she is engaged to Dorian. Dorian said to lord Henry that he only knows her for 3 weeks. He only know little about her. But what's so cute that Dorian said is that he thinks she's a genius because she plays 3 characters. But Lord Henry thinks not, as usual.

A quote that I found interesting was "Never marry at all, Dorian. Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious: both are disappointed."Lord Henry said that to Dorian. Its sort of interesting because its true. Men and women try to see if they can stay together forever, but they normally don't. This quote goes with what happens at the end of the chapter. I wonder how their marriage will turn out.

NEWS FLASH:
*OH NO MY FISH DIED!NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!I HAD IT FOR 3 MONTHS...and it jumped out of the bowl and no one saw him out of his bowl!WWWWWAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!TwT...r.i.p. Noppy*

I have also discovered something about Lord Henry. He loves to use pathos to get people think the same way he does. For example:

Dorian smiled and shook his head: "I am afraid I don't think so, Lady Henry. I never talk during music--at least, during good music. If one hears bad music, it is one's duty to drown it in conversation."

"Ah! that is one of Harry's views, isn't it, Mr. Gray? I always hear Harry's views from his friends..." (pg. 62)

I think Lord Henry loves to use pathos to get his way. He is also another character I want to study.

well that's it for now...

"To get back one's youth, one has merely to repeat one's follies."

Sigh, the third chapter. Well, to me, it was boring because it was just a bunch of people having dinner. Also, the first half of the chapter I really didn't understand what was going on. But, later on, I did. To say the truth, I thought I wouldn't make it to the end, but I did.

Lord Henry goes to see his dear uncle George and asks him about Dorian's background. When his uncle was describing Dorian's background, I really didn't understand, but to say the truth, I really don't understand A THING IN THIS BOOK, until Lord Henry somewhat explains it. Dorian's mother died and his father too. Here is the story behind Dorian's background:
"Mr. Dorian Gray? Who is he?" asked Lord Fermor, knitting his bushy white eyebrows.

"That is what I have come to learn, Uncle George. Or rather, I know who he is. He is the last Lord Kelso's grandson. His mother was a Devereux, Lady Margaret Devereaux. I want you to tell me about his mother. What was she like? Whom did she marry? You have known nearly everybody in your time, so you might have known her. I am very much interested in Mr. Gray at present. I have only just met him."

"Kelso's grandson!" echoed the old gentleman. "Kelso's grandson! ... Of course.... I knew his mother intimately. I believe I was at her christening. She was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, Margaret Devereux, and made all the men frantic by running away with a penniless young fellow-- a mere nobody, sir, a subaltern in a foot regiment, or something of that kind. Certainly. I remember the whole thing as if it happened yesterday. The poor chap was killed in a duel at Spa a few months after the marriage. There was an ugly story about it. They said Kelso got some rascally adventurer, some Belgian brute, to insult his son-in-law in public--paid him, sir, to do it, paid him-- and that the fellow spitted his man as if he had been a pigeon. The thing was hushed up, but, egad, Kelso ate his chop alone at the club for some time afterwards. He brought his daughter back with him, I was told, and she never spoke to him again. Oh, yes; it was a bad business. The girl died, too, died within a year. So she left a son, did she? I had forgotten that. What sort of boy is he? If he is like his mother, he must be a good-looking chap."

"He is very good-looking," assented Lord Henry.

"I hope he will fall into proper hands," continued the old man. "He should have a pot of money waiting for him if Kelso did the right thing by him. His mother had money, too. All the Selby property came to her, through her grandfather. Her grandfather hated Kelso, thought him a mean dog. He was, too. Came to Madrid once when I was there. Egad, I was ashamed of him. The Queen used to ask me about the English noble who was always quarrelling with the cabmen about their fares. They made quite a story of it. I didn't dare show my face at Court for a month. I hope he treated his grandson better than he did the jarvies."

"I don't know," answered Lord Henry. "I fancy that the boy will be well off. He is not of age yet. He has Selby, I know. He told me so. And . . . his mother was very beautiful?"

"Margaret Devereux was one of the loveliest creatures I ever saw, Harry. What on earth induced her to behave as she did, I never could understand. She could have married anybody she chose. Carlington was mad after her. She was romantic, though. All the women of that family were. The men were a poor lot, but, egad! the women were wonderful. Carlington went on his knees to her. Told me so himself. She laughed at him, and there wasn't a girl in London at the time who wasn't after him. And by the way, Harry, talking about silly marriages, what is this humbug your father tells me about Dartmoor wanting to marry an American? Ain't English girls good enough for him?"(pg. 49-51)

Well, now I'm starting to understand. His father died in a duel, while his mother died a year later. Poor boy. Then, he goes off to his aunt Agatha's house. At his aunt's house, he meets a duchess, a Radical, Tories, one of his aunt's oldest friends, a guy who makes up a bunch of garbage, and a smart middle-aged guy. I also didn't understand what they were talking about because they were talking about a bunch of stuff, sort off like being random. I mean, first they talk about American girls,how they have a charm to get European boys and European girls don't have a chance. Then, they go off talking about they should go to Chicago. Later on, th Dutches talks about how great being young is and ask Lord Henry the secret to being young. He responds, saying "

"A blush is very becoming, Duchess," remarked Lord Henry.

"Only when one is young," she answered. "When an old woman like myself blushes, it is a very bad sign. Ah! Lord Henry, I wish you would tell me how to become young again."

He thought for a moment. "Can you remember any great error that you committed in your early days, Duchess?" he asked, looking at her across the table.

"A great many, I fear," she cried.

"Then commit them over again," he said gravely. "To get back one's youth, one has merely to repeat one's follies."

"A delightful theory!" she exclaimed. "I must put it into practice."(pg 57)

Well, I guess what Lord Henry says is true. He might be a talker, but he makes perfect sense at times. "To get back one's youth, one has merely to repeat one's follies." I love this quote.

Then at the end of the chapter, Lord Henry starts to have this feeling that Dorian is looking at him. Finally, Lord Henry is invited to a practice, but I'm not sure if he said yes or no.

Sorry if I sound confuse, but this chapter is somewhat confusing for me.

2nd chapter of Oscar Wilde

HELLO AGAIN!
Now here's my view of the 2nd chapter...
The second chapter was soooo much better than the first one. Why? Here are my reasons:
*NO MORE DESCRIPTIONS OF FLOWERS!....well maybe some...
*It's keeps u wondering what's lord Henry is going to say next.
*Last but not least, the descriptions make u feel like ur their.

In this chapter, Lord Henry starts to talk to Dorian. Lord Henry sounds like the devil talking to Dorian. Why?
Lord Henry is talking to Dorian about his beauty. At first,it more sounds like he's complimenting him,but to me he sounds like he's trying to convince him that his beauty is the best thing in the world...WHICH IS NOT!. For ex:

Lord Henry tells Dorian:"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. The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible. . . . Yes, Mr. Gray, the gods have been good to you. But what the gods give they quickly take away. You have only a few years in which to live really, perfectly, and fully. When your youth goes, your beauty will go with it, and then you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left for you, or have to content yourself with those mean triumphs that the memory of your past will make more bitter than defeats. Every month as it wanes brings you nearer to something dreadful. Time is jealous of you, and wars against your lilies and your roses. You will become sallow, and hollow-cheeked, and dull-eyed. You will suffer horribly.... Ah! realize your youth while you have it. Don't squander the gold of your days, listening to the tedious, trying to improve the hopeless failure, or giving away your life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar. These are the sickly aims, the false ideals, of our age. Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing. . . . A new Hedonism-- that is what our century wants. You might be its visible symbol. With your personality there is nothing you could not do. The world belongs to you for a season. . . . The moment I met you I saw that you were quite unconscious of what you really are, of what you really might be. There was so much in you that charmed me that I felt I must tell you something about yourself. I thought how tragic it would be if you were wasted. For there is such a little time that your youth will last--such a little time. The common hill-flowers wither, but they blossom again. The laburnum will be as yellow next June as it is now. In a month there will be purple stars on the clematis, and year after year the green night of its leaves will hold its purple stars. But we never get back our youth. The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty becomes sluggish. Our limbs fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we had not the courage to yield to. Youth! Youth! There is absolutely nothing in the world but youth!"(LINK:
http://www.classicreader.com/read.php/bookid.1914/sec.3/)I'm starting to think that Lord Henry is going to put Dorian in whole lot of trouble the more Dorian hangs around him. Lord Henry seems like he loves to talk about anything and change his opinions around and see if anyone will notice.

Also in this chapter, the setting sounds calm and the way Wilde describes it makes me feel like I'm their. Where Lord Henry and Dorian are talking are in a garden, filled with flowers and life. But, its funny how Lord Henry keeps on talking and talking, while Dorian is just listening.

At the end of the chapter sort of made me mad. Thanks to Lord Henry, Dorian sounded like his looks was the most important thing in the world. Ex: (and I'm sorry if you fall asleep while your reading my evidence)

"My dear fellow, I congratulate you most warmly," he said. "It is the finest portrait of modern times. Mr. Gray, come over and look at yourself."

The lad started, as if awakened from some dream.

"Is it really finished?" he murmured, stepping down from the platform.

"Quite finished," said the painter. "And you have sat splendidly to-day. I am awfully obliged to you."

"That is entirely due to me," broke in Lord Henry. "Isn't it, Mr. Gray?"

Dorian made no answer, but passed listlessly in front of his picture and turned towards it. When he saw it he drew back, and his cheeks flushed for a moment with pleasure. A look of joy came into his eyes, as if he had recognized himself for the first time. He stood there motionless and in wonder, dimly conscious that Hallward was speaking to him, but not catching the meaning of his words. The sense of his own beauty came on him like a revelation. He had never felt it before. Basil Hallward's compliments had seemed to him to be merely the charming exaggeration of friendship. He had listened to them, laughed at them, forgotten them. They had not influenced his nature. Then had come Lord Henry Wotton with his strange panegyric on youth, his terrible warning of its brevity. That had stirred him at the time, and now, as he stood gazing at the shadow of his own loveliness, the full reality of the description flashed across him. Yes, there would be a day when his face would be wrinkled and wizen, his eyes dim and colourless, the grace of his figure broken and deformed. The scarlet would pass away from his lips and the gold steal from his hair. The life that was to make his soul would mar his body. He would become dreadful, hideous, and uncouth.

As he thought of it, a sharp pang of pain struck through him like a knife and made each delicate fibre of his nature quiver. His eyes deepened into amethyst, and across them came a mist of tears. He felt as if a hand of ice had been laid upon his heart.

"Don't you like it?" cried Hallward at last, stung a little by the lad's silence, not understanding what it meant.

"Of course he likes it," said Lord Henry. "Who wouldn't like it? It is one of the greatest things in modern art. I will give you anything you like to ask for it. I must have it."

"It is not my property, Harry."

"Whose property is it?"

"Dorian's, of course," answered the painter.

"He is a very lucky fellow."

"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."

The painter stared in amazement. It was so unlike Dorian to speak like that. What had happened? He seemed quite angry. His face was flushed and his cheeks burning.

"Yes," he continued, "I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your silver Faun. You will like them always. How long will you like me? Till I have my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one loses one's good looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything. Your picture has taught me that. Lord Henry Wotton is perfectly right. Youth is the only thing worth having. When I find that I am growing old, I shall kill myself."

Hallward turned pale and caught his hand. "Dorian! Dorian!" he cried, "don't talk like that. I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall never have such another. You are not jealous of material things, are you?-- you who are finer than any of them!"

"I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die. I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me. Why should it keep what I must lose? Every moment that passes takes something from me and gives something to it. Oh, if it were only the other way! If the picture could change, and I could be always what I am now! Why did you paint it? It will mock me some day--mock me horribly!" The hot tears welled into his eyes; he tore his hand away and, flinging himself on the divan, he buried his face in the cushions, as though he was praying.

"This is your doing, Harry," said the painter bitterly.

Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. "It is the real Dorian Gray-- that is all."

"It is not."

"If it is not, what have I to do with it?"

"You should have gone away when I asked you," he muttered.

"I stayed when you asked me," was Lord Henry's answer.

"Harry, I can't quarrel with my two best friends at once, but between you both you have made me hate the finest piece of work I have ever done, and I will destroy it. What is it but canvas and colour? I will not let it come across our three lives and mar them."

Dorian Gray lifted his golden head from the pillow, and with pallid face and tear-stained eyes, looked at him as he walked over to the deal painting-table that was set beneath the high curtained window. What was he doing there? His fingers were straying about among the litter of tin tubes and dry brushes, seeking for something. Yes, it was for the long palette-knife, with its thin blade of lithe steel. He had found it at last. He was going to rip up the canvas.

With a stifled sob the lad leaped from the couch, and, rushing over to Hallward, tore the knife out of his hand, and flung it to the end of the studio. "Don't, Basil, don't!" he cried. "It would be murder!"

"I am glad you appreciate my work at last, Dorian," said the painter coldly when he had recovered from his surprise. "I never thought you would."

"Appreciate it? I am in love with it, Basil. It is part of myself. I feel that."

"Well, as soon as you are dry, you shall be varnished, and framed, and sent home. Then you can do what you like with yourself." And he walked across the room and rang the bell for tea. "You will have tea, of course, Dorian? And so will you, Harry? Or do you object to such simple pleasures?"

"I adore simple pleasures," said Lord Henry. "They are the last refuge of the complex. But I don't like scenes, except on the stage. What absurd fellows you are, both of you! I wonder who it was defined man as a rational animal. It was the most premature definition ever given. Man is many things, but he is not rational. I am glad he is not, after all-- though I wish you chaps would not squabble over the picture. You had much better let me have it, Basil. This silly boy doesn't really want it, and I really do."

"If you let any one have it but me, Basil, I shall never forgive you!" cried Dorian Gray; "and I don't allow people to call me a silly boy."

"You know the picture is yours, Dorian. I gave it to you before it existed."

"And you know you have been a little silly, Mr. Gray, and that you don't really object to being reminded that you are extremely young."

"I should have objected very strongly this morning, Lord Henry."

"Ah! this morning! You have lived since then."

There came a knock at the door, and the butler entered with a laden tea-tray and set it down upon a small Japanese table. There was a rattle of cups and saucers and the hissing of a fluted Georgian urn. Two globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by a page. Dorian Gray went over and poured out the tea. The two men sauntered languidly to the table and examined what was under the covers.

"Let us go to the theatre to-night," said Lord Henry. "There is sure to be something on, somewhere. I have promised to dine at White's, but it is only with an old friend, so I can send him a wire to say that I am ill, or that I am prevented from coming in consequence of a subsequent engagement. I think that would be a rather nice excuse: it would have all the surprise of candour."

"It is such a bore putting on one's dress-clothes," muttered Hallward. "And, when one has them on, they are so horrid."

"Yes," answered Lord Henry dreamily, "the costume of the nineteenth century is detestable. It is so sombre, so depressing. Sin is the only real colour-element left in modern life."

"You really must not say things like that before Dorian, Harry."

"Before which Dorian? The one who is pouring out tea for us, or the one in the picture?"

"Before either."

"I should like to come to the theatre with you, Lord Henry," said the lad.

"Then you shall come; and you will come, too, Basil, won't you?"

"I can't, really. I would sooner not. I have a lot of work to do."

"Well, then, you and I will go alone, Mr. Gray."

"I should like that awfully."

The painter bit his lip and walked over, cup in hand, to the picture. "I shall stay with the real Dorian," he said, sadly.

"Is it the real Dorian?" cried the original of the portrait, strolling across to him. "Am I really like that?"

"Yes; you are just like that."

"How wonderful, Basil!"

"At least you are like it in appearance. But it will never alter," sighed Hallward. "That is something."

"What a fuss people make about fidelity!" exclaimed Lord Henry. "Why, even in love it is purely a question for physiology. It has nothing to do with our own will. Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old men want to be faithless, and cannot: that is all one can say."

"Don't go to the theatre to-night, Dorian," said Hallward. "Stop and dine with me."

"I can't, Basil."

"Why?"

"Because I have promised Lord Henry Wotton to go with him."

"He won't like you the better for keeping your promises. He always breaks his own. I beg you not to go."

Dorian Gray laughed and shook his head.

"I entreat you."

The lad hesitated, and looked over at Lord Henry, who was watching them from the tea-table with an amused smile.

"I must go, Basil," he answered.

"Very well," said Hallward, and he went over and laid down his cup on the tray. "It is rather late, and, as you have to dress, you had better lose no time. Good-bye, Harry. Good-bye, Dorian. Come and see me soon. Come to-morrow."

"Certainly."

"You won't forget?"

"No, of course not," cried Dorian.

"And ... Harry!"

"Yes, Basil?"

"Remember what I asked you, when we were in the garden this morning."

"I have forgotten it."

"I trust you."

"I wish I could trust myself," said Lord Henry, laughing. "Come, Mr. Gray, my hansom is outside, and I can drop you at your own place. Good-bye, Basil. It has been a most interesting afternoon."

As the door closed behind them, the painter flung himself down on a sofa, and a look of pain came into his face."(Link: http://www.classicreader.com/read.php/bookid.1914/sec.3/)

Now Dorian is starting to act like a big head (to full of himself)! *gggrrr* Stupid Lord Henry turned him into this! Shame...

THE FIRST CHPTR OF OSCAR WILDE'S BOOK...

HELLO,HI ,WELCOME...^w^

This is the first blog of the first chapter of the book..."THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY"...if you are wondering who the heck is this guy. He is the author of this book,Oscar Wilde. When you look at this picture of the author, you probably think of him as nothing, but trust me...HE'S SOMETHING!

The first chapter of the book is okay when you read it to yourself,but when some guy who has a monotone voice reads it...YOU JUST WANNA DIE...trust me...JUST TRUST ME.

The characters in book so far are Lord Henry(aka harry),Basil, some lady,(woopsie,forgot her name),and the main character himself,DORIAN GRAY. Wilde describes all of his characters good...but a bit too good. Why do i say this?BECAUSE WHEN THIS AUTHOR DESCRIBES MEN...I START TO THINK OF HIM AS GAY! Even though they say he is...but who know...the world is unknown.

The person who paints the picture is called BASIL HALLWARD. He is the man who paints the very interesting Dorian Gray. Lord Henry asks Basil why he does not want to show the world his painting. In the book, pg 20, paragraph 5, he says "...I have too much of myself into it." I don't understand why Wilde wrote that, but on the next page(21), Basil explains that Dorian is ugly, then it makes me wonder why he did that.

Lord Henry is the guy who sparks an "interest" in Dorian. Through out the first chapter,he asks Basil questions on this Dorian character, I start to feel the sense that Lord Henry is gay. For ex: in page 28, he says "Basil, this extraordinary!I must see Dorian Gray." See what i mean...but he is a very complex character to me because he's sort of like Oscar Wilde. HE CHANGES EVERYTHING HE SAYS!

The tone of the first chapter is descriptive. Also, through out the 1st chapter, he uses way too much descriptions of flowers. For ex: on pg 19,the first sentence,"The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn."...The tone is also very dramatic too, once I read this line and the whole 1st chapter.

if u want to read the first chapter,here's a link:
http://www.classicreader.com/read.php/bookid.1914/sec.2/

^w^okay...by-by!^w^

(note to ms.bishop: I really tried to write this but the first chapter does not make any sense.)