Joy is a pervasive sense – not just a thought – of well-being: of overall and ultimate well-being. Its primary feeling component is delight in an encompassing good well secured. It is not the same as pleasure, though it is pleasant. It is broader and deeper than any pleasure… But for joy, all is well, even in the midst of specific suffering and loss.
I have said that in one respect my mind has changed during the last twenty or thirty years. Up to the age of thirty, or beyond it, poetry of many kinds, such as the works of Milton, Gray, Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Shelley, gave me great pleasure, and even as a schoolboy I took intense delight in Shakespeare, especially in the historical plays. I have also said that formerly pictures gave me considerable, and music very great delight. But now for many years I cannot endure to read a line of poetry: I have tried lately to read Shakespeare, and found it so intolerably dull that it nauseated me. I have also almost lost any taste for pictures or music.