Indeed, dear writer

"        '(...) Of course I flatter him dreadfully. I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said. As a rule, he is charming to me (...) and talk of a thousand things. Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real delight in giving me pain. (...) I have given away my whole soul to someone who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer's day.'
         '(...) Perhaps you will tire sooner than he will. (...) I think you will tire first, all the same. Some day you will look at your friend, and he will seem to you to be a little out of drawing, or you won't like his tone of colour, or something. You will bitterly reproach him in your own heart, and seriously think that he has behaved very badly to you. The next time he calls, you will be perfectly cold and indifferent. It will be a great pity, for it will alter you. (...) "

in The Picture of Dorian Gray,  Oscar Wilde