Pleasure has no logic; it never treads in its own footsteps.
The discovery of a grey hair when you are brushing out your whiskers of a morning - first fallen flake of the coming snows of age - is a disagreeable thing.
It is a characteristic of pleasure that we can never recognize it to be pleasure till after it is gone.
God has thickly strewn infinity with grandeur.
Trees are your best antiques
A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.