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Updated: June 23, 2025
This boy must be bound, out of hand. That's my way. Bound out of hand." "Never mind me, Mum," returned that diabolical cornchandler. "A pleasure's a pleasure all the world over. But this boy, you know; we must have him bound. I said I'd see to it to tell you the truth."
Lov'd by the Good, esteemed by the Wise, To gracious Heav'n, a pleasing sacrifice. Hail Music, Foretaste of celestial Joy! That always satiasts, yet canst never cloy: Each pure, refin'd, extatic Pleasure's thine, Thou rapt'rous Science! Harmony divine!
Then slowly up the hill they passed, and rested now and again above the steep places. "A wisht home-comin' as ever a body heard tell on," commented Gaffer Polglaze; "an' yet the Lard's good pleasure's allus right if you lives long enough to look back an' see how things was from His bird's-eye view of 'em. Who Be gwaine to come by that?" "Her give it under hand an' seal to her brother."
"In England we've mislaid the recipe of life," he said. "Pleasure's a lost art. We don't get drunk, we're ashamed of love, and as to beauty, we've lost the eye for' it. In exchange we have got money, but what 's the good of money when we don't know how to spend it?"
He has found that the way of the transgressor is hard; he has kissed the bloom of pleasure's painted lips, he has found them pale as death! But others follow, and hurry by. And a motley lot they are; figure and speech, complexion and dress all combine to create dismay; but they have all one common characteristic. They want money! and are not particular about the means of getting it.
In truth, he shed none of his contempt for the flabby and depraved immorality of the age: in truth, he still thought that its impure and unwholesome art was the lowest rung of art, because it is a disease, a fungus growing on a rotting trunk: but if art for pleasure's sake is the prostration of art, Christophe by no means opposed to it the short-sighted utilitarianism of art for morality's sake, that winged Pegasus harnessed to the plow.
VII. To me thy better gifts impart, Each moral beauty of the heart, By studious thought refin'd; For wealth, the smile of glad content; For pow'r, its amplest, best extent, An empire o'er my mind. VIII. When Fortune drops her gay parade. When Pleasure's transient roses fade, And wither in the tomb, Unchang'd is thy immortal prize; Thy ever-verdant laurels rise In undecaying bloom.
"When, Catton, to your sight is shown the love Which all my tenderest caresses prove, Feeling all pleasure's sharpest joys and fears, Burning one moment, shivering the next, Caressing you while showering you with tears, Giving each charm a thousand eager kisses, Wishing to touch at once a thousand blisses And, at the ones beyond my power, vexed, Abandoned in a furious desire, Leaving these charms for other charms that fire, Possessing all and yet desiring Until, destroyed by excesses of pleasure, Finding no words of love nor anything To express my fires overflowing measure Than deepening sighs and obscure murmuring: Ah!
While they conceive the whole ocean is at their command disport here and there in imagined freedom they are already encased by the insidious nets; the harpoon is already pointed, which shall surely pierce them. Delancey plunged headlong into pleasure's vortex touched each link between gaiety and crime.
Shall insist! Pleasure's all mine, 'sure you." "Never, Jerningham!" fumed the Captain, "not to be thought of, my dear Bob no begad, he's mine; why you heard him, he he positively called me a a fellow!"
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