All Quotes By Tag: Pleasure
“We do not lack devices for measuring these miserable days of ours, in which it should be our pleasure that they be not frittered away without leaving behind any memory of ourselves in the mind of men.”
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“„Timpul pe care îți face plăcere să îl pierzi nu e timp pierdut.”
“I care not that this moment’s lot was thin and sparsely dealt; all pleasures sweet can be forgot the instant they are felt.”
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“And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time’s malleability.”
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“It was masturbation, not willpower, that made it possible for gazillions of women to walk down the aisle with their reputation and their hymen still intact.”
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“Some women have been faking orgasms for so long that they sometimes fake one when they are masturbating.”
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“The main question to a novel is — did it amuse? were you surprised at dinner coming so soon? did you mistake eleven for ten? were you too late to dress? and did you sit up beyond the usual hour? If a novel produces these effects, it is good; if it does not — story, language, love, scandal itself cannot save it. It is only meant to please; and it must do that or it does nothing.”
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“The sweet pleasure of prayer, the grace of the soul.”
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“The human population would probably be way less than a thousand, if ejaculation were not usually accompanied by an orgasm.”
“A premature death does not only rob one of the countless instances where one would have experienced pleasure, it also saves one from the innumerable instances where one would have experienced pain.”
“Don’t beg for treasure; create it for yourself. Don’t beg for positions; build one for yourself.”
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“When a poet settled down to write a poem, could he foresee the lines he would write? Did his head constantly spin with riddles and rhymes and was his only job to put them down? What if he couldn’t get them to make sense, and no one, not even the person he cared for most, could have pleasure in reading it? What would he do?”
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“Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpiresAt every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapt power.”
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“a joy that hurts with sadnessa sadness that is pleasurablea pleasure full of terrora terror that excitesan excitement that calmsa calmness that frightens.”
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