What joy can the years bring half so sweet as the unhappiness they've taken away?
Happiness is a wine of the rarest vintage, and seems insipid to a vulgar taste.
This nice and subtle happiness of reading, this joy not chilled by age, this polite and unpunished vice, this selfish, serene life-long intoxication.
Eat with the rich, but go to the play with the poor, who are capable of joy.
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