Here it is such a mixture; one does n't know what to choose, what to believe.

Beauty stands there--beauty such as this night and this place, and all this sad, strange summer, have been so full of--and it penetrates to one's soul and lodges there, and keeps saying that man was not made to suffer, but to enjoy.

This place has undermined my stoicism, but--shall I tell you?
I feel as if I were saying something sinful--I love it!" "If it is sinful, I absolve you," said Rowland, "in so far as I have power.

We are made, I suppose, both to suffer and to enjoy.

As you say, it 's a mixture.