Tuesday, 3 (Leeds).--I was reflecting on an odd circumstance, which I cannot account
for. I never relish a tune at first hearing, not till I have almost learned to sing it; and as I
learn it more perfectly, I gradually lose my relish for it. I observe something similar in poetry;
yea, in all the objects of imagination. I seldom relish verses at first hearing; till I have heard
them over and over, they give me no pleasure; and they give me next to none when I have
heard them a few times more, so as to be quite familiar. Just so a face or a picture, which
does not strike me at first, becomes more pleasing as I grow more acquainted with it; but
only to a certain point: for when I am too much acquainted, it is no longer pleasing. Oh,
how imperfectly do we understand even the machine which we carry about us!
The Journal of John Wesley
The Journal of John Wesley
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