There's a friendly tie of some sort between music and eating.

It was that period in the vernal quarter when we may suppose the Dryads to be waking for the season. The vegetable world begins to move and swell and the saps to rise, till in the completest silence of lone gardens and trackless plantations, where everything seems helpless and still after the bond and slavery of frost, there are bustlings, strainings, united thrusts, and pulls-all-together, in comparison with which the powerful tugs of cranes and pulleys in a noisy city are but pigmy efforts.

Well, these sad and hopeless obstacles are welcome in one sense, for they enable us to look with indifference upon the cruel satires that Fate loves to indulge in.

You concede nothing to me and I have to concede everything to you.

...our impulses are too strong for our judgement sometimes

My eyes were dazed by you for a little, and that was all.

It is rarely that the pleasures of the imagination will compensate for the pain of sleeplessness.