In Love, As In Gluttony, Pleasure Is

You're The Sort Of Person Who, On Principle, No Longer Expects Anything Of Anything. There Are Plenty, Younger Than You Or Less Young, Who Live In The Expectation Of Extraordinary Experiences: From Books, From People, From Journeys, From Events, From What Tomorrow Has In Store. But Not You. You Know That The Best You Can Expect Is To Avoid The Worst.

If A Lover Is Wretched Who Invokes Kisses Of Which He Knows Not The Flavor, A Thousand Times More Wretched Is He Who Has Had A Taste Of The Flavor And Then Had It Denied Him.

At Times The Mirror Increases A Thing’s Value, At Times Denies It.

So You Begin To Wonder If Leonia's True Passion Is Really, As They Say, The Enjoyment Of New And Different Things, And Not, Instead, The Joy Of Expelling, Discarding, Cleansing Itself Of A Recurrent Impurity.

It Is Only After You Have Come To Know The Surface Of Things ... That You Can Venture To Seek What Is Underneath. But The Surface Of Things Is Inexhaustible.