He shrugged his shoulders. "You are ill, I suppose.
When you are ill you shouldn't act. You make yourself ridiculous.
My friends were bored. I was bored."

She seemed not to listen to him. She was transfigured with joy.
An ecstasy of happiness dominated her.

"Dorian, Dorian," she cried, "before I knew you, acting was the one
reality of my life. It was only in the theatre that I lived. I thought
that it was all true. I was Rosalind one night and Portia the other.
The joy of Beatrice was my joy, and the sorrows of Cordelia were mine also.
I believed in everything. The common people who acted with me seemed
to me to be godlike. The painted scenes were my world. I knew nothing
but shadows, and I thought them real. You came--oh, my beautiful love!--
and you freed my soul from prison. You taught me what reality really is.
To-night, for the first time in my life, I saw through the hollowness,
the sham, the silliness of the empty pageant in which I had always played.
To-night, for the first time, I became conscious that the Romeo was hideous,
and old, and painted, that the moonlight in the orchard was false,
that the scenery was vulgar, and that the words I had to speak were unreal,
were not my words, were not what I wanted to say. You had brought me
something higher, something of which all art is but a reflection.
You had made me understand what love really is. My love! My love!
Prince Charming! Prince of life! I have grown sick of shadows.
You are more to me than all art can ever be. What have I to do with
the puppets of a play? When I came on to-night, I could not understand
how it was that everything had gone from me. I thought that I was going
to be wonderful. I found that I could do nothing. Suddenly it dawned
on my soul what it all meant. The knowledge was exquisite to me. I heard
them hissing, and I smiled. What could they know of love such as ours?