| Quote #7
"He is gone," murmured Sibyl sadly. "I wish you had seen him."
Jim's ethical code is certainly more strict than those of the other characters we know – he believes in protecting his loved ones, regardless of whether the law deems it right or wrong.
| Quote #8
But he never fell into the error of arresting his intellectual development by any formal acceptance of creed or system, or of mistaking, for a house in which to live, an inn that is but suitable for the sojourn of a night, or for a few hours of a night in which there are no stars and the moon is in travail. Mysticism, with its marvellous power of making common things strange to us, and the subtle antinomianism that always seems to accompany it, moved him for a season; and for a season he inclined to the materialistic doctrines of the Darwinismus movement in Germany, and found a curious pleasure in tracing the thoughts and passions of men to some pearly cell in the brain, or some white nerve in the body, delighting in the conception of the absolute dependence of the spirit on certain physical conditions, morbid or healthy, normal or diseased. Yet, as has been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself. He felt keenly conscious of how barren all intellectual speculation is when separated from action and experiment. He knew that the senses, no less than the soul, have their spiritual mysteries to reveal. (11.14)
Dorian's personal moral code can't be attributed to any other source – he believes only in his own experience of life, not in any theories or principles, like his mentor, Lord Henry. The codes and rules that apply to other men just don't seem to stick with him.
| Quote #9
For these treasures, and everything that he collected in his lovely house, were to be to him means of forgetfulness, modes by which he could escape, for a season, from the fear that seemed to him at times to be almost too great to be borne. Upon the walls of the lonely locked room where he had spent so much of his boyhood, he had hung with his own hands the terrible portrait whose changing features showed him the real degradation of his life, and in front of it had draped the purple-and-gold pall as a curtain. For weeks he would not go there, would forget the hideous painted thing, and get back his light heart, his wonderful joyousness, his passionate absorption in mere existence. Then, suddenly, some night he would creep out of the house, go down to dreadful places near Blue Gate Fields, and stay there, day after day, until he was driven away. On his return he would sit in front of the picture, sometimes loathing it and himself, but filled, at other times, with that pride of individualism that is half the fascination of sin, and smiling with secret pleasure at the misshapen shadow that had to bear the burden that should have been his own. (11.25)
So, Dorian needs all his luxuriant comforts as a means of "forgetfulness" – which means that he does, in fact, feel some guilt and shame over the state of his soul. However, it's still mingled with the "fascination" and "pride" that he feels looking upon the true image of himself; any guilt he might feel is insignificant compared to his desire to keep his secret.