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Автор: Oscar Wilde

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Its mysteries have all the charm of a flirtation, a woman once
told me, and I can quite understand it. Besides, nothing makes
one so vain as being told that one is a sinner. Conscience makes
egotists of us all. Yes; there is really no end to the
consolations that women find in modern life. Indeed, I have not
mentioned the most important one."
"What is that, Harry?" said the lad listlessly.
"Oh, the obvious consolation. Taking some one else's admirer when
one loses one's own. In good society that always whitewashes a
woman. But really, Dorian, how different Sibyl Vane must have
been from all the women one meets! There is something to me quite
beautiful about her death. I am glad I am living in a century
when such wonders happen. They make one believe in the reality of
the things we all play with, such as romance, passion, and love."
"I was terribly cruel to her. You forget that."

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