邹问风 533万字 604631人读过 连载
"killed herself! good heavens! is there no doubt about that?" cried hallward, looking up at him with an expression of horror.
"that is certainly better than being adored," he answered, toying with some fruits. "being adored is a nuisance. women treat us just as humanity treats its gods. they worship us, and are always bothering us to do something for them."
for years, dorian gray could not free himself from the influence of this book. or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he never sought to free himself from it. he procured from paris no less than nine large-paper copies of the first edition, and had them bound in different colours, so that they might suit his various moods and the changing fancies of a nature over which he seemed, at times, to have almost entirely lost control. the hero, the wonderful young parisian in whom the romantic and the scientific temperaments were so strangely blended, became to him a kind of prefiguring type of himself. and, indeed, the whole book seemed to him to contain the story of his own life, written before he had lived it.
"i am afraid that women appreciate cruelty, downright cruelty, more than anything else. they have wonderfully primitive instincts. we have emancipated them, but they remain slaves looking for their masters, all the same. they love being dominated. i am sure you were splendid. i have never seen you really and absolutely angry, but i can fancy how delightful you looked. and, after all, you said something to me the day before yesterday that seemed to me at the time to be merely fanciful, but that i see now was absolutely true, and it holds the key to everything."