He said that our truest pleasures are due to the imagination. Thus, children construct a world out of nothing, whereas men find nothing in the world. He compared those pleasures termed real to an artichoke, all the leaves of which must be masticated in order to reach the pith. He added that such artichokes as these are very rare; and that many others resemble them in exterior, but within are void of kernel. He for his part, finding the leaves unpalatable, determined to abstain from both leaves and kernel. Being asked what was the worst moment of life, he said: "Except those of pain or fear, the worst moments are, in my opinion, those spent in pleasure. For the anticipation and recollection of these last, which fill up the remainder of life, are better and more delightful than the pleasures themselves." He also made a comparison between pleasures and odours. The latter he considered usually leave behind a desire to experience them again, proportioned to their agreeableness; and he regarded the sense of smell as the most difficult to satisfy of all our senses. Again, he compared odours to anticipations of good things; and said that odoriferous foods are generally more pleasing to the nose than the palate, for their scent originates savoury expectations which are seldom sufficiently realised. He explained why sometimes he was so impatient about the delay of a pleasure sure to occur sooner or later, by saying that he feared the enjoyment he should derive from it would be of diminished force, on account of the exaggerated anticipation conceived by his mind. For this reason he endeavoured in the meantime to forget the coming good, as though it were an impending misfortune. He said that each of us in entering the world resembles a man on a hard and uncomfortable bed. As soon as the man lies down, he feels restless and begins to toss from side to side and change his position momentarily, in the hope of inducing sleep to close his eyes. Thus he spends the whole night, and though sometimes he believes himself on the point of falling asleep, he never actually succeeds in doing so. At length dawn comes, and he rises unrefreshed. Watching some bees at work one day in company with certain acquaintances, he remarked: "Blessed are ye, if ye know not your unhappiness." He considered the miseries of mortals to be incalculable, and that no single one of them could be adequately deplored. In answer to Horace's question, "Why is no one content with his lot?" he said: "Because no one's lot is happy. Subjects equally with princes, the weak and the strong, were they happy, would be contented, and would envy no one. For men are no more incapable of being satisfied than other animals. But since happiness alone can satisfy them, they are necessarily dissatisfied, because essentially unhappy."