1 If I did, I would lose all my pleasure.
2 Pleasure is Nature's test, her sign of approval.
3 Lord Henry watched him with a subtle sense of pleasure.
4 When he saw it he drew back, and his cheeks flushed for a moment with pleasure.
5 He was flushed with excitement and pleasure, and looked extraordinarily handsome.
6 Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret.
7 Oh, your theories about life, your theories about love, your theories about pleasure.
8 I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said.
9 Dorian bowed to him shyly from the end of the table, a flush of pleasure stealing into his cheek.
10 "Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about," he answered in his slow melodious voice.
11 "You have not spoiled my pleasure in meeting you, Mr. Gray," said Lord Henry, stepping forward and extending his hand.
12 As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there.
13 And how charming he had been at dinner the night before, as with startled eyes and lips parted in frightened pleasure he had sat opposite to him at the club, the red candleshades staining to a richer rose the wakening wonder of his face.
14 He was conscious--and the thought brought a gleam of pleasure into his brown agate eyes--that it was through certain words of his, musical words said with musical utterance, that Dorian Gray's soul had turned to this white girl and bowed in worship before her.
15 It was true that as one watched life in its curious crucible of pain and pleasure, one could not wear over one's face a mask of glass, nor keep the sulphurous fumes from troubling the brain and making the imagination turbid with monstrous fancies and misshapen dreams.
16 The praise of folly, as he went on, soared into a philosophy, and philosophy herself became young, and catching the mad music of pleasure, wearing, one might fancy, her wine-stained robe and wreath of ivy, danced like a Bacchante over the hills of life, and mocked the slow Silenus for being sober.
17 His father had been our ambassador at Madrid when Isabella was young and Prim unthought of, but had retired from the diplomatic service in a capricious moment of annoyance on not being offered the Embassy at Paris, a post to which he considered that he was fully entitled by reason of his birth, his indolence, the good English of his dispatches, and his inordinate passion for pleasure.
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