A flower blossoms for its own joy.

Perhaps in nearly every joy, as certainly in every pleasure, cruelty has its place.

There were sins whose fascination was more in the memory than in the doing of them, strange triumphs that gratified the pride more than the passions, and gave to the intellect a quickened sense of joy, greater than any joy they brought, or could ever bring, to the senses.

...the remembrance even of joy having its bitterness, and the memories of pleasure their pain.

So overjoyed were they at their deliverance that they laughed aloud, and the Earth seemed to them like a flower of silver, and the Moon like a flower of gold.

I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows.

The girl laughed again. The joy of a caged bird was in her voice.

in every pleasure, cruelty has its place...

A virtuous abstinence from the joys of pederasty comes most easily to those who have no taste for it.