Energy falls just short of being joy.
Idleness makes people feeble and peevish. Work makes them stalwart and prone to anger.
There are different rules for reading, for thinking, and for talking. Writing blends all three of them.
Even the most fickle are faithful to a few bad habits.
Young poets bewail the passing of love; old poets, the passing of time. There is surprisingly little difference.
If I could do my life over, I would try to cleanse at least my pleasures of self-pity.