Henry: Well, Basil, it's quite the best thing you've done. You'll be the talk of the town. Both of you. Speak up, boy. You'll hurt his feelings.
Gray: Is that really how I look? It's just so...life-like.
Henry: Better than life. He'll always look like that. You, Mr Gray, I'm afraid will not. In time, Mother Nature will come a very poor second to Father Basil.
Basil: Some things are precious because they don't last.
Henry: Poppycock. We wither and scar because the gods are cruel and hateful.
Gray: Perhaps I should nail my soul to the Devil's altar.
Henry: And remain as you are? Fair trade.
Basil: How about another gin instead?
Dorian: All that hocus-pocus, endless conjurations, books bound in infant skin, pentacles of fire, drinking the blood of virgins. Dorian wouldn't really barter his soul. Would you, Dorian? Would you?
Henry's aunt: Oh, you really have captured something quite exquisite, Basil.
Basil: I've never known a subject so unaffected. The brush just seemed to dance and I just painted what I saw.
Gray: Kelso will turn in his grave. He didn't care to look at me. He blamed me for my mother, for her death.
Henry: There are no limits to the ugliness of old men.
Henry's aunt: Lips! And his eyes! Almost a match for the original.
Henry: I’m afraid you must get used to being looked at.
Dorian: Well, it's a fine painting.
Henry: I don't mean the painting.
Photographer: Mr Gray, if you please.