The artist looked at the graceful, elegant povyzą you upside the mirror so perfectly reflected in h

Oscar Wilde
Nineteenth-century realism hatred, rage is Caliban, who saw his mirror image.

Artist's studio there was a sweet scent of roses, and when the light summer breeze sušnarėdavo garden among the trees through the open door to the intoxicating smell of oils or milder Echinaceae led flashing lights Rosehip scent.
Lying on persiškom gūniom covered with couches and, as always, knows a subsequent smoking a cigarette in a row, Lord Henry Votonas from their angle yet seen it yellow and sweet honey of acacia flowers and vibrant branches break up overfilled the beauties of the burden, as similar to the flame, from time to time on a long Indian- silk curtains, covering a huge window, glimpsed fantastic birds of passage, led flashing lights shadows, then curtains moment turn into what sort of Japanese paintings and Lord Henry remembered the pale Tokyo artists jade-colored faces, which are essentially static art means trying to convey a sense of movement and speed. Muffled dūzgėdamos bees penetrated through high uncut grass or monotonously, persistently milled iškerojusio honeysuckle flower cups and on their dūzgėjimo silence seemed even more oppressive. Slope London catching noise like a distant organ bass.
Middle of the room, attached to a steep easel, stood indescribably beautiful boy portrait full-length in front of him as far away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance two years ago caused such public led flashing lights excitement and power of bizarre speculation.
The artist looked at the graceful, elegant povyzą you upside the mirror so perfectly reflected in his work, and satisfaction with a grin neblėso him out of the face. But suddenly led flashing lights jumped up artist, close your eyes and fingers gasket lids, as if some sort of order to preserve the memory of a strange dream, and fearing to wake up from it.
- Here's your job to the best, Basil, the best of all your work - slowly said Lord Henry. - Next year, be sure to send him to Grouvnerį. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. When I was there goes away, or are so many people not see that picture, and it's horrible, or so paintings that does not show people, led flashing lights and it's even worse. In fact, the only place Grouvneris.
Lord Henry raised the eyebrows and looked surprised at him through a veil of blue smoke skystučių Bryony, whose fantastically vinguriuodamos stemmed from his strong cigarettes, opium impurity.
- Nowhere will not send? Why, buddy? Do you have any reason? Change the creatures you artists. Neriatės of fur that pagarsėtumėt and notorious are behaving as if you like to get rid of glory. Stupidly're doing, the only one in the world beats a malady that, when all of you language, led flashing lights which is evil, when nobody talks about you. This portrait of the aggrandizement of you among the young British artists and the old would envy, if a long time yet able to feel anything:
- Too many self-idea! Boy, Basil did not think you so tuštuolis, in fact I do not see any similarity led flashing lights between the rough solid your face, hair black as coal, and this young Adonis, who looks as if they were of ivory and rose petals. Listen, my dear Basil, because he is a real Narcissus, and you ... of course, your facial expression intelligent and so forth, but the beauty, real beauty is lost when you have an intelligent expression. Intellect is in itself something exaggerated and therefore destroys the harmony led flashing lights of each face. Once a person sits and muses, his face, leaving only the nose or forehead only, or any horror. Look at the people who achieve something requiring education professions. What are they perfectly disgusting! Of course, the exception to the clergy. But the clergy do not care. The bishop at the age of eighty years of repeating the same things taught him to say when he was eighteen, so always look extremely charming. The enigmatic your friend, whose name I'm not saying, but whose portrait I really fascinating, never thinks. Which I doubt. This is probably an airhead beautiful creature, who should always be with us in the winter, when you can not enjoy the flowers in the summer, when we need something to cool your mind. Too good about myself think, Basil, you are not a bit unlike him.
- You do not understand me, Harry, - said the artist. - Clearly, I am not like him. I know that very well. In fact I would even be embarrassed to be such as it is. Pull the shoulder? I'm telling the truth. All that is perfect, both physical and