Dorian Gray laughed, and tossed his head.
“You are quite incorrigible, Harry; but I don’t mind. It is impossible to be angry with you. When you see Sibyl Vane, you will feel that the man who could wrong her would be a beast, a beast without a heart. I cannot understand how anyone can wish to shame the thing he loves. I love Sibyl Vane. I want to place her on a pedestal of gold and to see the world worship the woman who is mine. What is marriage? An irrevocable vow. You mock at it for that. Ah! don’t mock. It is an irrevocable vow that I want to take. Her trust makes me faithful, her belief makes me good. When I am with her, I regret all that you have taught me. I become different from what you have known me to be. I am changed, and the mere touch of Sibyl Vane’s hand makes me forget you and all your wrong, fascinating, poisonous, delightful theories.”
—¿Y esos son…? —preguntó Lord Henry, sirviéndose un poco de ensalada.
—Oh, tus teorías sobre la vida, tus teorías sobre el amor, tus teorías sobre el placer. Todas tus teorías, de hecho, Harry.
“El placer es lo único sobre lo que vale la pena tener una teoría”, contestó con su voz lenta y melodiosa.
“Pero mucho me temo que no puedo atribuirme mi teoría como propia. Pertenece a la Naturaleza, no a mí. El placer es la prueba de la Naturaleza, su seña de aprobación. Cuando somos felices, siempre somos buenos, pero cuando somos buenos, no siempre somos felices”.