I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself.
Basil remembers meeting Dorian as if meeting fate. The imagery turns personality into a tide that could “absorb” him. He names the cost clearly: not just taste but “soul” and art could be overtaken. This is love described as influence rather than romance; it’s honest about danger. His self-knowledge makes his later helplessness sadder. Wilde shows how devotion rearranges identity long before it looks like a decision. The sentence reads like a prophecy Basil can’t obey.