|C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.|
| A sip is the most that mortals are permitted from any goblet of delight.|
A. Bronson Alcott.
| I am convinced that we have a degree of delight, and that no small one, in the real misfortunes and pains of others.|
| ||These violent delights have violent ends|
|And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,|
|Which as they kiss consume.|
| ||A voice of greeting from the wind was sent;|
| The mists enfolded me with soft white arms;|
|The birds did sing to lap me in content,|
| The rivers wove their charms,|
|And every little daisy in the grass|
|Did look up in my face, and smile to see me pass!|
R. H. Stoddard.
| The last excessive feelings of delight are always grave.|