The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
When I was a child, books were everything. And so there is in me, always, a nostalgic, yearning for the lost pleasure of books. It is not a yearning that one ever expects to be fulfilled.
Pleasure dies at the very moment when it charms us most.
The art of living has no history: it does not evolve: the pleasure which vanishes vanishes for good, there is no substitute for it. Other pleasures come, which replace nothing. No progress in pleasures, nothing but mutations.
It lasted but a year of two, till all the routes were done. The pace so fast that most forgot that climbing could be fun.
O love, if I regret the age when one savors you, it is not for the hour of pleasure, but for the one that follows it.
Pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed.
I was very competitive growing up. I can't even play chess anymore because I used to play tournament chess in school. There's too much sense memory of sitting in front of a chess board and getting super intense about it. It's ruined the game for me.
That strain again! It had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more: 'Tis not so sweet as it was before.
