“You told me you had destroyed it.” “I was wrong. It has destroyed me.” “I don’t believe it is my picture.” “Can’t you see your ideal in it?” said Dorian bitterly. “My ideal, as you call it . . .” “As you called it.” “There was nothing evil in it, nothing shameful. You were to me such an ideal as I shall never meet again. This is the face of a satyr.” “It is the face of my soul.” “Christ! what a thing I must have worshipped! It has the eyes of a devil.”
