The picture of dorian gray by oscar wilde pdf

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IN , Oscar Wilde published the first version of The Picture of. Dorian Gray in Lippincott's Monthly Magazine. After vociferous public responses to the novel's. The Picture of Dorian Gray By Oscar Wilde. Format: Global Grey free PDF, epub, Kindle ebook. Pages (PDF): Publication Date: Download links are. Oscar Wilde {} was one of Ireland's best and cleverest writers. His plays and children's stories, as well as The Picture of Dorian Gray, are still enjoyed.

Basil Hallward is impressed by Dorian Gray's beauty. He paints a portrait of him and becomes infatuated with him, believing his beauty is responsible for a new mode in his art. Realizing that one day his beauty will fade, Dorian expresses a desire to sell his soul to ensure the portrait Basil has painted would age rather than he. Dorian's wish is fulfilled, and when he subsequently pursues a life of debauchery, the portrait serves as a reminder of the effect each act has upon his soul, with each sin displayed as a disfigurement of his form, or through a sign of aging. The Canterville Ghost Oscar Wilde. A House of Pomegranates Oscar Wilde. An Ideal Husband Oscar Wilde.

Dorian's wish is fulfilled, and when he subsequently pursues a life of debauchery, the portrait serves as a reminder of the effect each act has upon his soul, with each sin displayed as a disfigurement of his form, or through a sign of aging. The Canterville Ghost Oscar Wilde.

A House of Pomegranates Oscar Wilde. An Ideal Husband Oscar Wilde. 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. From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion.

The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ. In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake.

The Academy is too large and too vulgar. Whenever I have gone there, there have been either so many people that I have not been able to see the pictures, which was dreadful, or so many pictures that I have not been able to see the people, which was worse. The Grosvenor is really the only place. My dear fellow, why? Have you any reason? What odd chaps you painters are! You do anything in the world to gain a reputation.

As soon as you have one, you seem to want to throw it away. It is silly of you, for there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. A portrait like this would set you far above all the young men in England, and make the old men quite jealous, if old men are ever capable of any emotion.

I have put too much of myself into it. Upon my word, Basil, I didn't know you were so vain; and I really can't see any resemblance between you, with your rugged strong face and your coal-black hair, and this young Adonis, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves.

Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you--well, of course you have an intellectual expression and all that. But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins.

Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Harry, what shall I do? You don't know the danger that I am in. No, no. The man quickly becomes unhappy and bored. Of course, he's kind to his wife.

We can always be kind to people that we're not interested in. But the woman soon discovers that her husband is bored. And then she either becomes terribly unfashionable, or wears very expensive hats that another woman's husband has to pay for.

Do you? He told Dorian Gray what he wanted to hear. And then he told him clever, amusing stories about The Picture of Dorian Gray the women that he himself had loved. He said that Sybil Vane's death was a beautiful end to a love story for an actress. Don't cry for Sybil Vane. She was less real than Juliet. But we won't talk of this again.

It's been a wonderful lesson for me. That's all. He had to choose between a good life and a bad life, he thought. But then he realized that, in fact, he had already chosen. He would stay young for ever, and enjoy every wild pleasure that life could give him. The face in the picture would grow old and ugly and unkind, but he would stay beautiful for ever. He covered the picture again, and smiled. An hour later he was at Lord Henry's house, and Lord Henry was smiling at his side.

The Death of Love Lord Henry's house last night. It was a very amusing evening. I won't listen to you! I've found you, Dorian,' he said seriously. I knew that wasn't true, of course. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was about Sybil Vane. Poor girl! He looked bored. Have you no heart? I have cried for Sybil, yes, but I cannot cry today. I have changed, Basil. I'm a man now, with new feelings, new ideas.

Don't be angry with me. I am what I am. There's nothing more to say. But will you come and sit for another portrait soon? Never,' said Dorian quickly. Dorian cried out in fear, and ran between Basil and the portrait. You must not look at it. I don't want you to see it. Why have you changed your mind?

Basil turned away. After a while he said slowly, 'I see that you too have noticed something strange about the picture.

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Dorian, you changed my life as an artist from the moment when I met you. You became very important to me -I could not stop thinking about you. I could not let other people see it. I cannot exhibit this picture. But will you let me look at it again? Try to understand me, Dorian. You've been the one person in my life who has really influenced my art.

What a dangerous moment that had been! Poor Basil! Although he had told his own secret, he had not discovered Dorian's secret. But the picture. No one must ever see it again. He had the covered portrait carried upstairs to a small room at the top of the house.

Then he locked the door and kept the key himself. He felt safe now, because only his eyes would see the terrible changes in that beautiful face. When he returned to the room downstairs, he picked up a book that Lord Henry had lent him. He sat down and began to read. It was the story of a Frenchman, who had spent his life searching for beauty and pleasure — pleasure of all kinds, both good and bad. Dorian read for hours. It was a frightening book, full of strange ideas and dangerous dreams -dreams that slowly became real for D o r i a n.

Dorian read this book many times. In fact, he could not stop reading it, and over the years, it became more and more interesting to him. He felt that the Frenchman's life was. But time did not touch the face of Dorian Gray. That wonderful beauty - the beauty that Basil Hallward had painted - never left him. He enjoyed the life of a rich and fashionable young man.

He studied art and music, and filled his house with beautiful things from every corner of the world. He became hungry for evil pleasures. He became more and more in love with the beauty of his face, more and more interested in the ugliness of his soul. After a while strange stories were heard about him - stories of a secret, more dangerous life. But when people looked at that young and good-looking face, they could not believe the evil stories.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

And they still came to the famous dinners at his house, where the food, and the music, and the conversation were the best in London. But behind the locked door at the top of the house, the picture of Dorian Gray grew older every year. The terrible face showed the dark secrets of his life. The heavy mouth, the yellow skin, the cruel eyes - these told the real story. Again and again, Dorian Gray went secretly to the room and looked first at the ugly and terrible face in the picture, then at the beautiful young face that laughed back at him from the mirror.

As time passed, the face in the picture grew slowly more terrible. The Picture of Dorian Gray After his twenty-fifth year, the stories about him became worse. He was sometimes away from home for several days; he was seen fighting with foreign sailors in bars; he was friendly with thieves. And in the houses of fashionable people, men sometimes turned away when he entered a room. Women's faces sometimes went white when they heard his name. But many people only laughed at these stories.

Dorian Gray was still a very rich and fashionable man, and the dinners at his house were excellent. People agreed with Lord Henry, who once said, in his amusing way, that a good dinner was more important than a good life. As the months and years passed, Dorian Cray grew more and more afraid of the picture.

He both hated it and loved it, and he became more and more afraid that someone would discover his secret. For weeks he tried not to go near it, but he could not stay away from it for long. Sometimes, when he was staying in friends' houses, he suddenly left and hurried back to London.

The Picture of Dorian Gray

He wanted to be sure that the room was still locked and the picture was still safe. At one time he used to spend winters with Lord Henry in a little house in Algiers, but now he no longer travelled outside England.

His fear grew stronger every year, and as time passed, the face in the picture grew slowly more terrible. The Hand of a Killer 'Uncover that picture, and you will see my soul. He felt strangely afraid and tried to pretend that he had not seen him, but Basil hurried after him. I'm catching the midnight train to Paris and I wanted to see you before I left. I'll be away from England for six months. May I come in for a moment?

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde - PDF Drive

I have something to say to you. But won't you miss your train? It's only eleven o'clock. It doesn't interest me. Of course, when I look at you, I know that these stories can't be true. A man's The Picture of Dorian Gray face shows if his life is good or bad. But why does Lord Berwick leave the room when you enter it? Why does Lord Staveley say that no honest woman is safe with you? That young soldier, who was your friend - why did he kill himself?

There was Sir Henry Ashton, who had to leave England with a bad name. And what about Lord Kent's son? What kind of life does he have now? You don't know what you're talking about,' said Dorian coldly. Can your life really be so bad, so evil? You were a fine young man once, but now, when I hear these stories, I wonder. What has happened to the real Dorian Gray? I think I would have to see your soul before I could answer those questions. I will show you what only God can see.

Why not? It's your own work. You've talked enough about evil. Now you must look at it. Inside, he turned to the artist, with smiling lips and cold, hard eyes. Are you sure that you want to? How could that evil and unlovely face be Dorian Gray's? But yes, it was. He went nearer to the picture. It could not be the portrait that he had painted. But yes there was his name written in the corner. He turned and looked at Dorian Gray with the eyes of a sick man. But this. This is impossible. And you told me that you'd destroyed the picture.

It has destroyed me. If this is the face of your soul, then you are more evil than the worst of the stories about you.

Look at that terrible face. Look at it! Basil now knew his secret, and had seen the real Dorian Gray. Violent feelings burned inside Dorian. He picked up a knife from the table.

Then the hate inside him exploded, and like a wild animal, he ran towards Basil, and dug the knife into the artist's neck, again and again and The Hand of a Killer The Picture of Dorian Gray again. The murdered man's head fell forwards, and the blood ran slowly across the table, and down onto the floor.

Dorian stood and listened. He could hear nothing - only the drip, drip of blood onto the floor. He went to the window and looked down into the street. He felt strangely calm. The friend who had painted his portrait had gone out of his life.

That was all. He locked the door behind him and went quietly downstairs. His servants were all in bed. He sat down and began to think. No one had seen Basil in Dorian's house tonight.

Basil had gone to Paris, of course, so it would be six months before people asked where he was. Six months! That was more than enough time. Dorian walked up and down the room. Then he took out a book from his desk and began to search for a name. Alan Campbell. Yes, that was the name that he wanted. He put one of them into his pocket, and he gave the other to his servant. While Dorian waited, he picked up a book and tried to read. But after a time the book fell from his hand.

Perhaps Alan Campbell was out of England. Perhaps he would refuse to come. He was a very clever scientist, and five years ago he and Dorian had been good friends. But now Alan never smiled when he met Dorian. T Dorian stood and listened. He could hear nothing — only the drip, drip of blood onto the floor. Dorian smiled.

His voice was hard and cold. Please sit down. Dorian was silent for a moment; then, very quietly, he said, 'Alan, in a locked room upstairs there is a dead body. I want you to destroy it. There must be nothing left. I know you can do this. I refuse to help you,' Campbell replied. You're the only person who can help me. He took a piece of paper, wrote something on it, and pushed it across the table to Campbell.

As Campbell read the piece of paper, his face went white. He looked at Dorian with hate and fear in his eyes. Dorian gently. But I think that you will help me. Dorian waited. When the servant returned, Dorian took the scientist upstairs to the locked room. As they entered, Dorian remembered that the portrait was uncovered. He turned to cover it, then stopped and stared in horror. One of the hands in the picture was red with blood.

For Dorian, this was more terrible than the dead body in the room. With shaking hands, he quickly covered the picture. Five hours later Campbell came back downstairs. There was a terrible smell in the room; but the dead body had gone. The Sailor The Sailor 'I will find that man, and kill him like a dog. He smiled and talked, and looked as young and as good-looking as ever.

But his head ached and at dinner he could not eat anything. When Lord Henry asked him if he felt unwell, Dorian said that he was tired and would go home early. At home he felt worse.

Although the room was warm, his hands shook with cold. He wanted to forget for a while - to escape from the prison of his real life, and to lose himself in dreams. At midnight, in old dirty clothes, he left the house again and went to the East End of London. There he knew places where he could get opium - dark, evil places where people bought and sold the beautiful, terrible dreams of opium.

He had been there many times before. He found the house that he was looking for and went into a long, low room. Men were lying on the dirty floor, a sailor was asleep on a table and two women were drinking at the bar.

As Dorian hurried up the narrow stairs, the sweet, heavy smell of opium came to meet him and he smiled in pleasure. But in the room he saw a young man who had once been his friend.

The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde

He turned away, and went downstairs again to drink at the bar. One of the women spoke to him. You're Prince Charming, aren't you? The sleeping sailor woke up when he heard these words, and as Dorian left the house, the sailor hurried after him. Dorian walked quickly along the road, but as he reached a corner, hands closed around his neck. A man pulled him backwards and pushed him against a wall. Dorian fought wildly, and pulled the hands away.

Then he saw the gun in the man's hand. What have I done to you? She killed herself because of you. I've been looking for you for years, but I only knew the name that she used to call you - Prince Charming. Well, tonight I heard your name, and tonight you're going to die. I've never heard of her. You're crazy,' he cried. Suddenly he had an idea. Take me to the light and look at my face. Then he pushed him towards the light, and in the light he saw the face of a boy of twenty.

He was not the man who had destroyed his sister's life. And he walked quickly away. James Vane stared after him in horror. Then a woman's hand touched his arm. That man is only a boy. Her voice was hard. And his pretty face hasn't changed in all that time. It's true, I promise you.

Among them was the pretty Lady Monmouth and her much older husband. Lady Monmouth was amusing and clever, and seemed to like Dorian Gray very much. One afternoon, as they laughed and talked together during tea, Dorian went out to fetch a flower for Lady Monmouth's dress. Lord Henry smiled at Lady Monmouth. He's very dangerous. Lord Henry ran out of the room and found Dorian lying unconscious on the floor. You're not well. I'm all right. He had seen a face watching him at the window and he had recognized it.

It was the face of James Vane. The next day he did not leave the house.

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In fact, for most of the day he stayed in his room, sick with fear. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw again the sailor's face. He tried to tell himself that he had dreamt it. Yes, it was impossible. Sybil Vane's brother did not know his name, and was probably on his ship at sea.

No, of course he had not seen James Vane's face at the window. But the fear stayed with him, dream or no dream. There were shouts and calls from the men, and then a man's body was pulled from the trees. Dorian turned away in horror. Bad luck seemed to follow him everywhere. Two days passed and Dorian grew less afraid.

On the third day, a clear, bright winter morning, Dorian joined his friends on a shooting-party. With Lady Monmouth by his side, he walked to the edge of the forest where the men were shooting at birds and small animals. The cold air and the sounds and smells of the forest filled Dorian with happiness. Suddenly one of the men shot into the trees near them.

There were two A man's dead body was pulled from the trees. The Picture of Dorian Gray People began to walk back towards the house. Lord Henry came over to tell Dorian that the man was dead. Dorian shook his head. You have everything in the world that a man can want. Forget about this accident.

It was just an accident not murder. Mr Gray! Are you ill again? Your face is so white! I think I must go and lie down. He felt that he could not stay another night in the house. Death walked there in the sunlight. He decided to return immediately to London and to visit his doctor.

His servant came to pack his clothes, and while he was doing this, he told Dorian that the dead man was a sailor, but no one knew his name. He jumped to his feet. A wild hope filled him. He cried with happiness, and knew that now he was safe. The Picture ' A face without a heart' 16 'you're going to be good? You're wonderful as you are. Please don't change. It was spring in London, and the two friends were having dinner at Lord Henry's house. Dorian Gray shook his head. I began my good life yesterday, in the country.

Lord Henry. There's nothing to do in the country, so it's impossible to do anything bad. But tell me, how did you begin your good life? A very beautiful girl, an honest, country girl. She loved me, and was ready to come away with me yesterday, but I said no. I refused to destroy her young life, and I've left her as honest as I found her.

How can she be happy now with a country boy, after she has known you? I'm sorry that I told you now.

Let's talk about other things. What's been happening in London? I don't know why, because there are plenty of other things that they can talk about — my wife has run away with another man, Alan Campbell has killed himself. If Basil wants to hide himself, I really don't care. And if he's dead, I don't want to think about him.

Death is the only thing that really frightens me - I hate it. He wasn't clever enough to have enemies. He watched his friend carefully. You like a different kind of pleasure.

And you should never do anything that you cannot talk about after dinner. I haven't seen it for years. Didn't you tell me that it was stolen? What a pity! Then the older man lay back in his chair and looked at Dorian with half-closed eyes, 'Tell me how you have kept your youth and your wonderful beauty, Dorian. You must have some secret.

I'm 'Tell me how you have kept your youth and your wonderful beauty, Dorian,' said Lord Henry. But you haven't changed since the day when I first met you. What a wonderful life you've had! You don't know everything about me. You and I will always be friends. I must go home. I'll see you at lunch tomorrow. He had done one good thing. Perhaps the picture had already begun to look better. He went quietly upstairs to the locked room. Yes, he would live a good life, and he need not be afraid any more of the evil face of his soul.

But when he uncovered the picture, he gave a cry of pain. There was no change. The face in the picture was still terrible - more hateful, if possible, than before - and the red on the hand seemed brighter, like new blood. He stared at the picture with hate and fear in his eyes. Years ago he had loved to watch it changing and growing old; now he could not sleep because of it. It had stolen every chance of peace or happiness from him.

He must destroy it. He looked round and saw the knife that had killed Basil Hallward. There was a terrible cry, and a loud crash. The servants woke, and two gentlemen, who were passing in the road below, stopped and looked up at the house. A policeman came by, and they asked him: The two gentlemen looked at each other, then turned away from the house and walked on.

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