He imagines he's the greatest person in the world, and the only person to be considered.

His conceit is stupid....

I helped[35] him again and again with that 'Ballad of Reading Gaol' you're always praising: I suppose he'd deny that now.
"He's got his money back; what more can he want?
He disgusts me when he begs." I could not contain myself altogether.
"He seems to blame you," I said quietly, "for egging him on to that insane action against your father which brought him to ruin." "I've no doubt he'd find some reason to blame me," he whipped out.

"How did I know how the case would go ?...

Why did he take my advice, if he didn't want to?
He was surely old enough to know his own interest....
He's simply disgusting now; he's getting fat and bloated, and always demanding money, money, money, like a daughter of the horse-leech--just as if he had a claim to it." I could not stand it any longer; I had to try to move him to kindness.
"Sometimes one gives willingly to a man one has never had anything from.
Misery and want in one we like and admire have a very strong claim." "I do not see that there is any claim at all," he cried bitterly, as if the very word maddened him, "and I am not going to pamper him any more.
He could earn all the money he wants if he would only write; but he won't do anything.