I reject all evidence that my fabulous beloved is an ordinary person who worries, watches TV, and has bouts of indigestion.
The life of pleasure breeds boredom. The life of duty breeds resentment.
When I try to portray to myself my heart's desire, nothing happens.
The present necessarily betrays the past.
Blonds look angelic, but can (oh, happy!) be fleshy as well.
The aphorism is a slippery plaything.