The Warden

by Anthony Trollope

He knew the world too well to risk the comfort of such halcyon moments, by prolonging them till they were disagreeable.

he was doing nothing, thinking of nothing, looking at nothing; he was merely suffering.

All manner of past delights came before his mind, which at the time he had enjoyed without considering them; his easy days, his absence of all kind of hard work, his pleasant shady home,

Truth! it takes an age to ascertain the truth of any question!

We get on now with a lighter step, and quicker: ridicule is found to be more convincing than argument, imaginary agonies touch more than true sorrows,