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DORIAN GRAY BOOK PDF

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Gray. Oscar Wilde. This eBook was designed and published by Planet PDF. For more free . whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray's good looks,— we will all suffer for what .. 'I am in Lady Agatha's black books at present,' answered Dorian. Free kindle book and epub digitized and proofread by Project Gutenberg. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. No cover available. Download; Bibrec. Download The Picture of Dorian Gray free in PDF & EPUB format. Novel | English | 17/02/ Synopsis. Understanding that his beauty will fade, Dorian Gray expresses the desire to sell his soul, to ensure that his picture, rather than he, will.


Dorian Gray Book 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. We often say that a face is like an open book: 'the face tells its own story,' we say. When Dorian Gray sees the painting of his own face, he falls in love with his. sive food and clothes, and on valuable books and paintings. Lord Henry pointed 'I don't want people to look at the picture of Dorian Gray. I don't want them to.

So, Dorian wishes to live a life that centers around achieving pleasures in any form. He soon falls in love with a young actress, Sibyl Vane. Sibyl falls in love with Dorian so deeply that she now believes that she can no longer act to be in love on the scene since nothing is as sincere as the real thing.

As soon as he does that, he returns home, and to his surprise, he notices that his portrait has a changed expression: now the face on the picture sneers. He suddenly feels fear and remembers his vow to give his soul in return for eternal youth, and realizes that it might become true, so not wanting all his sins to be left as a mark on the portrait, he decides to apologize and reconcile with Sibyl the next day. But, he is too late. Sibyl has already killed herself.

Lord Henry urges Dorian not to feel bad, but instead consider her death as some kind of a triumph, an artistic one, in which she, an actress, decided to do her final act of a tragedy, to personify it.

Then, he gets a book about the Frenchmen living in the nineteenth century from Lord Henry, and he immerses himself into it completely, as it is a book that talks about sin and corruption. He begins to mirror the life of which he reads, and just cares for possibilities to gather new experiences, without any regard for the morality and ethics of his behavior.

Eighteen years later, Dorian is still living a life of pleasures, and all around town rumors begin to spread about his scandalous actions. However, no matter what they think or talk behind his back, he is accepted everywhere because of his beauty. The portrait, on the other hand, grows increasingly ugly. Then, one day, Basil decides to confront Dorian about all the talk he has heard about him, so he arrives in his house.

They quarrel, and in a fit of rage, Dorian takes Basil up in the room for him to see the portrait, and therefore his soul. Basin is horrified by the sight. However, Dorian considers himself as a man who has already gone too far, so there is not a point to go back now.

Afraid, he escapes to his country house, where he also invites some guests. But, soon, he is accidentally killed by a hunting party, so Dorian is relieved. All of these events make him want to start over, but he cannot make himself confess his crimes. He goes to the picture, that shows his dark life, and tries to stab it. When the maids enter, they find an old, ugly man lying on the floor stabbed in the heart, next to the portrait of a good-looking young man. Like this summary?

This book is truly a masterpiece. The police will be asking questions, and you must keep your name out of any scandal. Things like that make a man fashionable in Paris.

But in London they are a disaster for any gentleman. I suppose they don't know your name at the theatre? If they don'r, it is all right. Did anyone see you going round to her room? Finally he said in a strange voice,'Harry did you say that the police are asking questions? What did you mean by that? Did Sibyl -? Oh, Harry this is terrible! She swallowed something horrible they use at theatres. The birds still sing happily in my garden.

And tonight I will have dinner with you and go to the theatre. How extraordinary life is! My first passionate love letter was to a dead girl. Yet why is it that I cannot feel this tragedy as much as I want to? I don't think I am Do you? The evening darkened in the room. After some time Dorian Gray looked up. It has been somerhing wonderful.

That is all. Now I have to dress, Harry.

I feel too tired to eat anything, but I will join you later at the thearre. No, there was no further change in the picture. It had received the news of SibylVane's death before he had known of it himself.

Tears came to his eyes as he remembered her. He brushed them eway and looked again at the picture. He felt the time had come to choose, Or had he already chosen?

Yes,life had decided that for him. The portrair was going ro carry his shame: An hour later he was at the theatre, and Lord Henry was sitting beside him.

Of course I knew that was impossible. I had a terrible evening worrying whether one tragedy would be followed by another. I cant tell you how heart-broken I am about the whole thing. Did you go and see the girlt mother? What did she say about it all? He looked very bored. I won't hear it!

Dorian, this is horrible! Sonrething has changed you completely. You look exactly the same as the wonderful boy in rny picture, but now there is no heart in you. It is all Harry's influence. I see that. Yesterday when I heard that SibylVane had killed herself -' 'Killed herself! My God! Is there no doubt about that? Of course she killed herself. It is one of the great romantic tragedies of our time. I know you are surprised at me talking to you like this.

You have not realized how I have changed. I was a boy when you knew me. I arn a man now. I have new passions, new thoughts, new ideas -' 'But Dorian -' 'I am different,but you must not like me less.

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Of course I am very fond of Harry. But I know that you are better than he is. You are not sffonger - you are too afraid of life - but you are better. And how happy we used to be together!

Don't leave me, Basil, and don't argue with me. I am what I am. Dorian Gray was extraordinarily important to him.

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The boy had changed his art. There was so much in him that was good. I only hope that your name is kept out of any scandal. Have the police asked to see you? She told her family that I was Prince Charming. It was preffy of her. You must do me a drawing of Sibyl, Basil. I would like to have something more of her than the memory of a few kisses. But you must come and sit for me again. I can't work so well without you. It is impossible! Let me look at it.

It is the best thing I have ever done. It is very bad of your servant to hide my work like that. I felt the room looked diflerent as I came in. I did it myself. The light was too strong on the portrait. No, the light is perfect in here. Let me see it.

The picture of Dorian Gray

A terrible cry came from Dorian Grayt lips, and he rushed between the painter and the covered portrait. I don't want you to. Are you serious? Why shouldn't I look at it? I am very serious. He had never seen him like this before. The boy's face was white and angry. Dorian, from the moment I met you, your personaliry had the most extraordinary influence over me.

I worshipped you. I was jealous of everyone you spoke to. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happy when I was with you. I must tell you now what I did not tell you then. That I decided to paint a wonderful portrait of you.

I put all my feelings for you into that picture. I felt, Dorian, rhat I had told too much. I had put roo much of myself inro it. So I decided never to exhibit the porrrait. I told Harry and he laughed. When the picture was finished, and I sar alone with it, I felt that I was right. Later, I thoughr rhar perhaps I was being foolish and when this Paris offer came.

The colour came back to his cheeks and a smile crossed his lips. The danger was over and he was safe for a while. Lord Henry had the charm of being very dangerous. But that was all. And now goodbye, Dorian. But you don't know what it cost me to tell you all that I have told you. Only that you worshipped me too much. That is not even flattery. And now that I have told you, something seems to have gone out of me. Perhaps you should never put what you worship into words. It is foolish.

You and I are friends, Basil, and we will always be friends. He lives the sort of life I want to live. But I don't think I would go to Harry if I was in trouble. I would prefer to go to you, Basil. There is something terrible about a portrait.

It has a life of its own. I will come and have tea with you instead. Well, goodbye then. I am sorry that you won't let me look at the picture again. But I understand what you feel about it. Poor Basil! How little he knew of the true reason. And now he understood more the painter's wild and jealous feelings, and he felt sorry. He rang the bell to call his servant. He had to hide the portrait immediately.

It had been mad of him to leave it in a place where it could be discovered bv his friends. Mrs Leaf had been with his family for many years. He asked her for the key to the old schoolroom. I must clean it first. I only want the key. It hasn't been open for nearly five years, not since your grandfather died. He had bad memories of all his family.

Give me the key. He had rlot entered the room since he was a child. It was a large room built by his grandfather to keep him at a distance. Every moment of his lonely childhood came back to him as he looked round. It was a room full of terrible memories, but it was safe.

He had the key, and no other person could enter it. The face in the portrait could grow old and ugly. Whar did it matter? No one could see it. He himself would nor see it. He did not have to watch the terrible corruption of his soul.

He would stay vouns - that was enough. He felt safe now. No one would ever look at that horrible thing. He went back to the library and found a nore from Lord Henry. In it was a report from the newspaper about SibylVane. Her death was officially described as an accident. He frowned, and tore the paper in fwo. Then he walked across the room and threw the pieces away. How ugly it all was! And how horribly real ugliness made things! Perhaps the servant had read the report, and had begun to suspect 'W.

And, yet, what did it matrer? There was norhing ro be afraid of. Dorian Grav had not killed her. Chapter 9 'I. Yet thewonderful beaury that had so fascinated Basil Hallward, stayed with Dorian Gray. Even those who had heard terrible rumours against him, could not believe them when they met him. He always had the look of someone who had kept himself pure. Many people suspected that there was something very wrong with Dorian's life, but only he knew about the porrrait.

Some nights he would'secretly enter the locked room. Holding a rnirror in his hand, he would stand in front of the picrure Basil Hallward had painted. He would look first at the horrible, old face in the picture, and then at the handsome young face that laughed back at him from the mirror. He fell more and more in love with his own beaury.

And more and more interested in the corruption of his own soul. Then something happened that changed everyrhing. He was walking home from Lord Henry's and the night was cold and foggy. He him. It was Basil Hallward. Dorian recognized A strange fear made Dorian walk off quickly in the direction of his own house.

But Hallward had seen him. Dorian heard him hurrying after him. In a few moments his hand was on his arm. What an extraordinary piece of luck! I have been waiting for you in your library ever since nine o'clock. I am going to Paris on the midnight train, and I wanted to see you before I left.

I thought it was you, or at least your coat, as I passed you. But I wasn't sure. Didn't you recognize me? I can't even recognize Grosvenor Square.

I believe my house is somewhere about here, but I don't feel at all certain about it. I am sorry you are going away, as I have not seen you for such a long time. But I suppose you will be back soon? Let me come in for a moment.

I have something to say to you. But won't you miss your train? All I have with me is this bag, and I can easily get to Victoria Station in twenfy minutes.

There was a bright wood fire on one side of the room and two lamps on the other. Don't frown like that. You make it so much more diflicult for me. I am tired of myself tonight. I would prefer to be somebody different. I love scandals about other people, but scandals about myself don't interest me. You don't want people to talk ofyou as somerhing terrible and corrupt. But I don't believe these rumours at all. At least I can't believe them when I see you. Corruption is a thing that writes itself across a man's face.

It cannot be hidden. When I hear all the terrible things people are whispering about you, I don't know what to say. Why have so many of your friends killed themselves? Young men frorn good families like Adrian Singleton and that poor young soldier? You are talking about things of which you know nothing,'said Dorian. This is a country where people have two faces. They whisper rumours about people like myself, and then do much worse things when others are not looking.

I know England is bad, but that's the reason I want you to be a good influence on your friends. You have filled those poor young men with a madness for pleasure. I only want you to have a clean name. You have a wonderful influence. Let it be for good. But I can't answer that question. I would need to see your soul. He jumped up from the sofa, turning almost white with fear.

There was a deep sadness in his voice. But only God can do that. Nobody will believe you. If they do believe you, they will like me better for it. You have talked enough about corruption.

Now you will see it face to face. He felt a terrible delight that someone was going to share his secret.

The man who had painted the portrait was going ro share his shame. The painter would suffer for the rest ofhis life with the memory ofwhat he had done. You will see whar you think only God can see. Dorian, you have to tell me oDon't -' touch me. Finish what you have to say. He walked over to the fire and stood there.

The room had clearly not been lived in for years. The whole place was covered with dust, and there were holes in the carpet. A mouse ran across the floor. Take the cover off the portrait, and you will see mine. Then I will do it myself,, said the young man, throwing the old purple curtain to the ground.

A cry offear came from the painter's lips when he saw the face i' the portrait. It was Dorian Gray's face he was looki ng at,and it still had some of that wonderful beauty.

But now there were terrible signs ofage and corruption. But who had done it? He held the lamp up to the picture, In the left hand corner was his name, painted in red. He had never done that. He knew it, and it made his blood turn to ice. His own picture! He turned, and looked at Dorian Gray with the eyes of a sick man.

The young man was standing near the walr, watching him. He had taken the flower out of his coat,and was sme[ing it. His own voice sounded high and strange. He explained to me how wonderful it was to be young.

There must be something wrong with the paint. I tell you the thing is impossible. There was nothing bad in it, nothing shameful. You were perfect to tne. This is a face from hell. Each of us has Heaven and Hell in him, Basil,' cried Dorian wildly. Hallward turned again to the portrait, and stared at it. Is this true? You must be even worse than people say! The lamp fell to the floor and went out.

What an awful lesson! I worshipped you too much. I am punished for it.

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You worshipped yourself too much. There were tears in his eyes. Suddenly he felt that he hated Basil Hallward. He hated the man sitting at the table more than he hated anything in his life. He looked wildly around. Something shone on top of the painted cupboard that faced him. It was a knife he had left there some days before. FIe moved slowly towards it, passing Hallward ashe did so. He took the knife in his hand and turned around. Hallward moved in his chair. He rushed at him. He could hear nothing but the sound of btood falling on to the carpet.

He threw the knife down on the table and stood back. He could hear nothing but the sound of blood falling on to the carpet.

He opened the door and went out on to the stairs. The house was completely quiet. No one was there. How quickly it had all been done!

Feeling strangely calm, he walked over to the window and opened it. The wind had blown the fog away and the sky was clear. He looked down and saw a policeman walking down the street.

He was shining a lamp in all the houses. Ciosing the window, he went back into the room' He did not look at the murdered man. He felt that the secret of the whole thing was not to think about it at all. The friend who had painted the terrible portrait had gone out of his life.

That was enough. He picked up the lamp and walked out of the room,locking the door behind him. As he walked down the stairs he thought that he heard what sounded like cries of pain. He stopped several times, and waited. No, everything was still. When he reached the library he saw the bag and coat in the corner. They must be hidden away sotrrewhere.

He unlocked a secret cupboard and threw them in. He could easily burn them later. Then he pulled out his watch. It was twenty minutes to two. He sat down and began to think. Basil Hallward had left the house at eleven. No one had seen him come in again. The servants were in bed. And by the midnight train he had planned. It would be months before as anyone suspected anything.

He could destroy everything long before then. Suddenly he had a thought. He put on his coat and hat and went into the front room. From the window he could see the policeman passing the house. He waited, and held his breath. After a few moments he went out of the house, shutting the door very gently behind him. Then he began ringing the bell. FIe was half dressed and looked very sleepy.

How horribly latel you must wake me ar nine tomorrow. I have some work to do. He stayed here until eleven, and then he went away to catch his train. I am sorry I didn't see him. Did he leave any message? He said he wourd write to you from paris. Dont forget to call me at nine tomorrow. Dorian Gray threw his hat and coat upon the table and passed into the library.

For a quarter of an hour he walked ,p and down the room, biting his lip and thinking. Then he took down a book from one of the cupboards, and began to turn the ,A-ran pages. Chapter 11 The problern of the Bodv At nine o'clock the next morning his servant came in with a cup of chocolate, and opened the curtains.

Dorian was sreeping q,ri,. As he opened his eyes a smile passed across his lips. He turned round, and began to drink his chocolate. The November sun came into the room, and the sky was bright. It was armost rike a morning in Mav. The dead man was still sitting rhere, and in the sunlight now.

How horrible that was! Such terrible things were for the darkness, nor the day. After he had drunk his cup of chocolate, he went over to the table and wrote fwo letters. If Mr Campbel is out of town, get his address. First he drew flowers, then houses, then human faces.

He frowned and went over to lie on the sofa. An hour went past very slowly. Every second he kept looking up at the clock. As the minutes went by he became horribly worried. He got up and walked around the room. His hands were strangely cold. At last the door opened, and his servant entered.

The colour came back to his cheeks. His fear had gone away. In a few moments Alan Campbell walked in. He looked very angry and rather worried. This is kind of you. I thank you for coming. But you said it was a question of life and death. And to more than one person. Sit down. The two men's eyes met. In Doriant there was great sadness.

He knew that what he was going to do was terrible. Then he same took a piece of paper and wrote something on it' He read it over and pushed it across the table. Then he got up and went over to the window paper. As campbell looked at him in surprise and picked up the he read it, his face went white, and he fell back in his chair. Dorian came and After two or three minutes without speaking, stood next to him.

I have a letter written already' I will send it' Here it is. You see rhe address. If you don't help me, me' It is You know what will happen. But you are going to help impossible for You to refuse now'' Campbell Put his face in his hands'. The thing is quite simple, Alan. It has to be done.

Face it, and do it. Dorian took out the key and turned it in the lock' Then he don't stopped and Campbell saw that his eyes wefe full of tears''I think I can go in,Alan,'he said. Dorian half opened the door. He remembered that the night before he had forgotten to cover the picture. He was abour to rush forward when he saw somerhing that made him jump back.

There was blood on one of the hands in the portrait. How horrible it was! He hurried into the room, trying not to look ar the dead man. Picking the curtain offthe floor he threw it over the picture. Then he rushed out of the room and down the stairs. It was long after seven when campbell came back into the library. He was quiet and white in the face, but very calm. Let us never see each other again,' 'You have saved me, Alan.

I cannot forget that,' said Dorian, simply. There was a horrible smell in the room. But the thing that had been sitting ar the table was gone. Don't change. I am not going to do any more. But teli me, what is happening here in London? I have been out of the country for more than a month. He watched him carefully after he had spoken. Itis ordinary people who murder. It is their way of finding the extraordinary pleasure that art gives us.

Do you think that a man who has murdered could do it again. Don't tell me that. Anything becomes a pleasure if you do it too often,'cried Lord Henry,laughing. I believe, though, that murder is always a mistake. One should never do anything one cannot talk about after dinner.

But let us pass from poor Basil. I wish I could believe that he has died some romantic death, but I can't. He probably fell into the Seine offa bus. I can see him now lying on his back in the dirry green water. During the last ten years he had not been painting well'' Lord Henry walked across the room and touched the head of a strange grey bird that he kept in the music room.

Then he turned to face Dorian. When you and he stopped being great friends, he stopped being a great artist. I suppose he bored you. If so, he never forgave you. By the way, what happened to that wonderful portrait he did of you? I don't think I have ever seen it since he finished it.

I remember. You never got it back? What a shame! It really was wonderfirl. I remember I wanted to buy it. I wish I had it now,' 'I never really liked it,' said Dorian. The memory of the thing is hateful to me.

Don't be so serious. Play me some music, Dorian. And, as you play, tell me in a low voice why you still look so young. I am only ten years older than you are, and I have grey hair and yellow skin.

You are really wonderful, Dorian. You remind me of the day I first saw you. You are still the same. I wish I could change places with you, Dorian. The world has cried out against us both, but it has always worshipped you.

It always will worship you. Life has been your art. And you must not say these things to me. You don't know everything about me. I think that if you did, even you would turn away from me. I on't laugh. Ler us go ro the club. It has been a charming evening, and we musr end it charmingly. There is someone I want to introduce to you young Lord poole.

He is quite charming and he reminds me of you. I won't go to the club. It is nearly eleven, and I want to go to bed early. You have never played so well as tonight.

The park is quite lovely now. I don'r think rhere have been such flowers since the year I met you. I shall be here at eleven,' said Dorian. He walked home, with his coat on his arm, smoking his cigarette. Two young men in evening dress passed him. He heard one of them whisper to the other,'That is Dorian Gray'. FIe remembered how pleased he used to be when he was stared at or talkecl about. FIe was tired of hearing his own name now.

He sent him to bed, and threw himself down on rhe sofa in the library. He began to think about some of the things that Lord Henry had said to hirn. There had been a time when he had been good and innocent. He had corrupred himself, and become a terrible influence on others. He had even got pleasure from this corruption. Yet his soul had once been the purest of all. Was there no hope for him? In one terrible moment of passion, he had asked to stay young for all time.

All his failure had been because of that. He had not been punished, but perhaps punishment was what he had needed. Punishment cleaned the soul. The mirror that Lord Henry had given to him, so many years ago now was standing on the table. He picked it up, remembering that horrible night when he had firsr noticed the change in the picture. Once, someone who had loved him passionately had written him a mad letter. It had ended with these words: Throwing the mirror on the floor, he broke the glass into little pieces with his foot.

It was his beaury that had spoiled him. Nothing could change that. He had to think of his future. A-lan campbell had shot himself one night, and his terrible secret had died with him. The inrerest in Basil Hallward's disappearance would soon pass away. He was perfectly safe there.

Basil had painted the portrait that had destroyed his life. He could not forgive him that. It was the portrait that had done everything. The murder hadjust been the madness of the momenr. As forAlan campbell, he had killed himself. It was nothing to do with Dorian Gray. A new life! That was whar he wanred. That was what he was waiting for.

Perhaps it had begun already. He would never again spoil innocence. He would be good. He began to wonder if the portrait in the locked room had changed. Perhaps if his life became pure, the face in the portrait would become beautiful again. He would go and look. He took the lamp from the table and went upstairs. As he opened the door, a smile of happiness passed across his young face. He felt happier already. He went in quietly, locking rhe door behind him.

An angry cry ofpain came from him. He could see no change. The thing was still hateful - more hateful, even, than before. The red mark on the hand seemed brighter and more like new blood. And why was the red mark larger than it had been? It was all over the fingers now. There was blood on the painted feet, and blood on the hand that had not held the knife. That he should go to the police? That he should tell the whole story, and be pur to death? He laughed. He felt the idea was absurd.

Ifhe did tell rhem now who would believe him? There was nothing left of the murdered man anywhere. He himself had burned the bag and the coat. They would simply say he was mad. Was this murder to follow him all his life?

Yet what could he do? Go to the police? There was only one thing they could use against him and that was the picture itself. He would destroy it.

Once it had given him pleasure to watch it changing and growing old. Recently he had felt no such pleasure. It had kept him awake at night.Lord Henry admits he thinks it is better to be beautiful than to be good--but acknowledges it is better to be good than ugly.

Can your life really be so bad, so evil? He had not been punished, but perhaps punishment was what he had needed. What did this change mean? He sat down and began to think.