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 jealous, if old men are ever capable of any emotion." "I know you will laugh at me," he replies, "but I really can't exhibit it I have put too much of yourself into it." Lord Henry stretches his long legs on the divan, and shook with laughter. "Yes: I knew you would laugh,but it is quite true, all the same." "Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn't know you were so vain, and I really can't see any resemblance between your rugged strong face, and your coal-black hair and this young adonis who looks as if he was made of ivory and rose leaves. Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus! and you- well of course you have an intelectual expression, and all that. But Beauty, real Beauty, ends where an intellctual expression begins. Intellectual is in itself an exaggeration and destroys the harmony of any face.The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid.