A Quote by Banjo Paterson

For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know. — © Banjo Paterson
For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.
I find the love of garden grows upon me as I grow older more and more. Shrubs and flowers and such small gay things, that bloom and please and fade and wither and are gone and we care not for them, are refreshing interests, in life, and if we cannot say never fading pleasures, we may say unreproved pleasures and never grieving losses.
Our days weave together the simple pleasures of daily life, which we should never take for granted, and the higher pleasures of Art and Thought which we may now taste as we please, with none to forbid or criticise.
One of life's most over-valued pleasures is sexual intercourse; of one of life's least appreciated pleasures in defecation.
It is a condition of monsters that they do not perceive themselves as such. The dragon, you know, hunkered in the village devouring maidens, heard the townsfolk cry 'Monster!' and looked behind him.
In life there are two things which are dependable. The pleasures of the flesh and the pleasures of literature.
Mistake not. Those pleasures are not pleasures that trouble the quiet and tranquillity of thy life.
Work, especially if you're lucky in what you do, is one of the great pleasures of life, but - like all pleasures - it can become selfish.
The art of life lies in taking pleasures as they pass, and the keenest pleasures are not intellectual, nor are they always moral.
I once heard that Quentin Tarantino, who I obviously love and think is a genius, says that there's no such thing as guilty pleasure, there's only pleasures. And I do love that idea, because I do think that there's a pretentiousness when people make a list of their favorite things. I like to live a life where I don't think of my pleasures as guilty pleasures.
He that never labors may know the pains of idleness, but not the pleasures.
Do you know that conversation is one of the greatest pleasures in life? But it wants leisure.
The proverbial Englishman, we know from old chronicler Froissart, takes his pleasures sadly, and the Englishwoman goes a step further and takes her pleasures in sadness itself.
I am a man without many pleasures in life, a man whose few pleasures are small, but a man whose small pleasures are very important to him. One of them is eating. One reading. Another reading while eating.
Whichever way we look the prospect is disagreeable. Behind, we have left pleasures we shall never enjoy, and therefore regret; and before, we see pleasures which we languish to possess, and are consequently uneasy till we possess them.
All the other pleasures of life seem to wear out, but the pleasure of helping others in distress never does.
The impermanence of the universe is manifest, inescapable. I know that, yet I am immoderately attached to this life, these pleasures, this place.
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