Pleasure (n.) shown to a stranger — a ball, an opera, a court — might look to him like only a diversity of distress.
Pleasure (n.) scarcely ever reaches rapture and never stays at its height: the spirits evaporate, the nerves relax, and enjoyment degenerates into fatigue — while pain, the longer it lasts, becomes more genuine torture.
Pleasure (n.) men love more than they hate pain.
Pleasure (n.) comes, for a man in good health and humour, from every common incident: to go to bed, to rise, to eat, to converse, to enjoy the weather, to hear news and to retail it — the stuff of most lives.
Pleasure (n.) and pain seem scattered through life as indifferently as heat and cold through the universe; if one slightly prevails, that is just what happens in any unplanned mixture.
Pleasure (n.) of the natural kind — conversation, study, health, the beauties of nature, a quiet conscience — is truly without price: below all price to get, above it to enjoy.
Pleasure (n.) in its great forms is much less frequent than great pain, so a sensitive temper is tried far more often by the second.
Pleasure (n.) follows virtue, not the reverse: I feel pleasure in doing good to my friend because I love him; I do not love him for the sake of that pleasure.
Pleasure (n.) as a way of life cannot support itself as long as business; the most durable amusements, like gaming and hunting, mix in application.
Pleasure (n.) settles value: catching flies like Domitian, if it pleases more, is preferable to conquering kingdoms like Alexander.