on desire.

///Once grant your fairy, your enchanted forest, your satyr, faun, wood-nymph and well of immortality real, and amidst all the scientific, social and practical interest which the discovery would awake, the Sweet Desire would have disappeared, would have shifted its ground, like the cuckoo's voice, or the rainbow's end and be now calling us from beyond a further hill. As for the sexual answer, that I suppose to be the most obviously false Florimel of all. On whatever plane we take it, it is not what we were looking for. Lust can be gratified. Another personality can become to us 'our America, our New-Found-Land'. A happy marriage can be achieved. But what has any of the three, or any mixture of the three, to do with that unnameable something, desire for which pierces us like a rapier at the smell of a bonfire, the sound of wild ducks flying overhead, the title of "The Well at the World's End", the opening lines of Kubla Khan, the morning cobwebs in late summer, or the noise of falling waves?///
pg. 204, The Pilgrim's Regress.