This thread has reminded me of one of my favorite Shakespeare passages:
If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough! no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
Twelfth Night
"Two drifters off to see the world. There's such a lot of world to see. . ."