1 Mildew has got into the canvas.
2 He was going to rip up the canvas.
3 Hour by hour, and week by week, the thing upon the canvas was growing old.
4 What the worm was to the corpse, his sins would be to the painted image on the canvas.
5 Beneath its purple pall, the face painted on the canvas could grow bestial, sodden, and unclean.
6 It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself.
7 A feeling of pain crept over him as he thought of the desecration that was in store for the fair face on the canvas.
8 An exclamation of horror broke from the painter's lips as he saw in the dim light the hideous face on the canvas grinning at him.
9 "It is quite finished," he cried at last, and stooping down he wrote his name in long vermilion letters on the left-hand corner of the canvas.
10 He remembered that the night before he had forgotten, for the first time in his life, to hide the fatal canvas, and was about to rush forward, when he drew back with a shudder.
11 The sweep and dash of the brush on the canvas made the only sound that broke the stillness, except when, now and then, Hallward stepped back to look at his work from a distance.
12 Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him, as though it had been suggested to him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his ear by those grinning lips.
13 He had uttered a mad wish that he himself might remain young, and the portrait grow old; that his own beauty might be untarnished, and the face on the canvas bear the burden of his passions and his sins; that the painted image might be seared with the lines of suffering and thought, and that he might keep all the delicate bloom and loveliness of his then just conscious boyhood.