“Never marry a woman with straw-coloured hair, Dorian,” he said after a few puffs.
“Why, Harry?”
“Because they are so sentimental.”
“But I like sentimental people.”
“Never marry at all, Dorian. Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious: both are disappointed.”
“I don’t think I am likely to marry, Harry. I am too much in love. That is one of your aphorisms. I am putting it into practice, as I do everything that you say.”
“Who are you in love with?” asked Lord Henry after a pause.
“With an actress,” said Dorian Gray, blushing.
Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. “That is a rather commonplace debut.”
“You would not say so if you saw her, Harry.”
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Sibyl Vane.”
“Never heard of her.”
“No one has. People will some day, however. She is a genius.”
“My dear boy, no woman is a genius. Women are a decorative sex. They never have anything to say, but