If we didn't read people who were bastards, we'd never read anything. Even the best of us are at least part-time bastards.

We're not made to wallow in pleasure. Pleasure is joy's assassin.

Joy, it is, which I’ve never known before, only pleasure or excitement. Joy is a different thing, because its focus exists outside the self – delight in something external, not satisfaction of some inner craving.

Joy, it is, which I've never known before, only pleasure or excitement. Joy is a different thing, because its focus exists outside the self-delight in something external, not satisfaction of some inner craving.