[...] The to the flight of time was an unbearable torment. Not so much he regretted the day as happy as complained of 'days now spent in vain for happiness. At least the ones they had left a memory: these are left a deep regret, almost remorse ... His life was consumed by itself, bringing itself, the unquenchable flame of a single desire, the enjoyment of any other incurable disgust. Sometimes the impulses of greed attacked almost angry, desperate ardor toward pleasure, and it was like a violent rebellion of the heart is not satisfied, like a jolt of hope that is not resigned to die.
(Pleasure - Gabriele D'Annunzio)
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