Pleasure (n.) grasped is no pleasure: it is a grace, not obedient to the will, and like mystical insight it must come unsought.
Pleasure (n.) quenches thirst like saltwater: the more I get the more I want — and to want, in the old sense, is to lack.
Pleasure (n.) is by definition whatever we desire, so the desire not to desire brings on a "haven't-we-been-here-before?" feeling.
Pleasure (n.) comes at a price: the more we can feel of it, the more open we lie to pain.
Pleasure (n.) pursued once the eternal is out of reach sends the mind flitting nervously and greedily from one to the next, for fear of missing something.
Pleasure (n.) kept up without a break must either pall or be increased, and the increase either hardens the senses or turns into pain.
Pleasure (n.) is when we forget ourselves and let the moment be all; with pain, the split begins and the circle goes round.
Pleasure (n.) at its best is never planned, and the worst part of pain is expecting it and trying to escape it once it has come.
Pleasure (n.) is always present, so the more my actions aim at future pleasures, the less I can enjoy any pleasure at all.
Pleasure (n.) is spoiled by nothing so surely as watching yourself in the middle of it to check whether you are pleased.
Pleasure (n.) pursued exclusively is as frustrating and absurd as the old quest for perpetual motion.
Pleasure (n.) without pain is like a magnet with one pole: cut off the north end and each half simply grows a new north and south.
Pleasure (n.) implies and generates its opposite, so long as we desire it.