Pleasure (n.) is chosen everywhere by opinion rather than by nature.
Pleasure (n.) tasted in love's fullness would, he thought, have killed his frail body on the spot.
Pleasure (n.) first known is the only kind desired for long, because varied desires come with varied knowledge.
Pleasure (n.) of self-presence is accorded to God: with nothing outside oneself, one suffices to oneself, like God.
Pleasure (n.) has a fixed price: intensity and duration trade off in inverse proportion, so the product never grows.
Pleasure (n.) followed by repentance is no pleasure for him; he loves only enjoyments that are unadulterated.
Pleasure (n.) in its plenitude would kill: a frail existence could not survive the delights of love, and Rousseau would have died in the act.
Pleasure (n.) was heaped up by the men of Agrigentum as if they had but one day to live, while they built as if they would live for ever.
Pleasure (n.) that money buys is poisoned: bought women, bought company and bought meals are insipid unless the enjoyment is disinterested.
Pleasure (n.) at its purest costs almost nothing: a kitchen dinner on a three-legged stool between two girls beat any Parisian petit souper, even for sensuality.
Pleasure (n.) at the first is always mysterious, given its savour and its concealment by modesty, and a young man noisy about it has not enjoyed, however he boasts.
Pleasure (n.) does not depend on the will: he stopped inviting her on walks she did not enjoy, and preferred her contentment to his own.
Pleasure (n.) is the only pleasure, and yet it is unimaginable: a ravishing calm in which the blood flows past like a brook that does not seem to belong to you.
Pleasure (n.) can be purest where love is absent: with a woman he did not truly love, he was proud and happy; with the one he loved, every joy was spoiled by a secret sadness.