Quotes About Happiness

These people were smiling because they were where they wanted to be. They understood that life is too short for what-ifs and complications. Life, they found, can be as simple as reading the wind.

Remember, happiness and negativity are largely self-fulfilling prophecies. We see whatever we choose to project on the world around us, and that reflects back to us like a huge movie screen. We are, then, at once the projectionist, the actor, and the audience in this movie called Life.

Happiness: A Path to Profits, Passion, and Purpose,

While waiting for Carl Vespa to arrive, Grace started picking up the bedroom. Jack, she knew, was a great husband and father. He was smart, funny, loving, caring, and devoted. To counter that, God had blessed him with the organization skills of a citrus beverage. He was, in sum, a slob. Nagging him about it—and Grace had tried—did no good. So she stopped. If living happily was about compromise, this seemed to her like a pretty good one to make. Grace

Sie begrüßte mich mit einem so hölzernen Lächeln, dass Draufklopfen Glück gebracht hätte.

Wilde!" Nicole called out, clearly happy to see him. She brought him a beer. When it came to beer, he was, like the hotel, "unfussy," but he enjoyed whatever local ale was on tap. Today, that was a "blonde lager" from the Asbury Park Brewery. Nicole leaned over the bar to buss his cheek. Tom down at the other end gave him a wave.

Oh, honey, I'm as messed up as the rest. I just learned not to care so much. You know? We fight wars for freedom, right, and then what do we do with that freedom? We tie ourselves down with possessions and debt and, well, other people. If I seem happy, it's because I do what I want when I want." Megan

The boys ran and played with such wonderful abandonment. Adults could never play like that.

Also not surprising: He had fallen hard for Laszlo. He loved those walks, especially the one where he'd come through the door at the end of the day and Laszlo would greet him like a released POW on a tarmac—every day, without fail—and she'd drag him enthusiastically to the park as though she'd never been there before.

married Ginny," he said to Terese. "You remember her?" "Of course. I'm glad to hear you're happy, Mario." He took a beat, reassessing, calming down. "We have three kids. We keep saying we're going to buy a bigger place, but we like it here. And real estate is ridiculous in London." We stood there.

He opened the door. "Hello?" "Daddy! Uncle Mo!" It was Jill, his eleven-year-old princess, tearing around the corner, that smile plastered on her face. Mike felt his heart warm—the reaction was instantaneous and universal. When a daughter smiles at her father like that, the father, no matter what his station in life, is suddenly king. "Hey

You have very few perfect moments in your life, moments you want to put in a box and stick on the top shelf so that when you're alone, you can take the box down and open it up again. That

I look upon those who assure me they had a 'happy childhood' as either pathological liars, or pariahs.

Pleasure was the color of the time.

Autumn was her happiest season.

If you did not want much, there was plenty. Keeping a nigger happy these days is like catering to a king. In New York you are your own person. You may reach out and embrace all of Manhattan in sweet aloneness, or you can go to hell if you want to.

If you didn`t want much, there was plenty.

A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance!

Of course marriage isn't the solution to all life's ills. It can bring boatfuls of ills, if one is unlucky - think how unhappy people can be, yoked together.

These are tears and I am crying. It is not a painful sensation, as I always thought it must be. It feels like the purest expression of feeling that it is possible to have. And the feeling mixes everything up together. Happiness. Sadness. Relief. Sorrow. Love. A mixture if things no psychiatrist ever felt. It is the most wonderful mixture in the world.

Of course it hurt that we could never love each other in a physical way. We would have been far more happy if we had. But that was like the tides, the change of seasons--something immutable, an immovable destiny we could never alter. No matter how cleverly we might shelter it, our delicate friendship wasn't going to last forever. We were bound to reach a dead end. That was painfully clear.

I don't care what you do to me, but I don't want you to hurt me. I've had enough hurt already in my life. More than enough. Now I want to be happy.

I didn't have much to say to anybody but kept to myself and my books. With my eyes closed, I would touch a familiar book and draw it's fragrance deep inside me. This was enough to make me happy.

That's how stories happen — with a turning point, an unexpected twist. There's only one kind of happiness, but misfortune comes in all shapes and sizes. It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.