Quotes About Happiness

There are proponents of New Year's Eve, and there are proponents of regular Tuesday nights. I am one of the latter, much happier residing in the wake of the mundane.

HAPPINESS I'm turning left. Look, everyone, my blinker is on, and I'm turning left. I am so happy to be alive, driving along, making a left turn. I'm serious. I am doing exactly what I want to be doing at this moment: existing on a Tuesday, going about my business, on my way somewhere, turning left. There is nothing disconcerting or unpleasant or unfortunate about this moment. It is exceptionally nice, plain, and perfect.

She was a woman who thrived on danger, but when the danger ended, she couldn't find a way to be happy.

too much happiness always overflowed into tears of sorrow.

And now I have to stop. Because every time I remember this, I have to cry a little by myself. I don't know why something that made me so happy then feels so sad now. Maybe that is the way it is with the best memories.

If I look upon my whole life, I cannot think of another time when I felt more comfortable: when I had no worries, fears, or desires, when my life seemed as soft and lovely as lying inside a cocoon of rose silk.

They know where happiness lies, not in a cave or a country, but in love and the freedom to give and take what has been there all along.

Free time was the most precious time, when you should be doing what you loved, or at least slowing down enough to remember what made your life worthwhile and happy.

I was greedy, she warned, and could not fill my heart with enough pleasure, my stomach with enough contentment, my body with enough sleep. I was like a rice basket with a rat hole at the bottom, and thus could not be satisfied and overflow, nor could I be filled. I would never know the full depth and breadth of love, beauty, or happiness. She said it like a curse.

Too much happiness always overflows into tears of sorrow.

What was worse, we asked among ourselves, to sit and wait for our own deaths with proper somber faces? Or to choose our own happiness?

Your tears do not wash away your sorrows. They feed someone else's joy.

What was worse, we asked ourselves, to sit and wait for our own deaths with proper somber faces? Or to choose our own happiness?

And once you reached the top, you would be able to see everything and feel such happiness it would be enough to never have worries in your life ever again.

So we decided to hold parties and pretend each week had become the new year. Each week we could forget past wrongs done to us. We weren't allowed to think a bad thought. We feasted, we laughed, we played games, lost and won, we told the best stories. And each week, we could hope to be lucky. That hope was our only joy.

Qué era peor, nos preguntábamos entre nosotras, sentarnos y esperar la muerte con el rostro apropiadamente sombrío, o buscar una manera de ser felices a pesar de todo?

The hunger in our hearts was instantly filled.

Praise, I had learned, was temporary. What someone else controlled and doled out to you, and if you accepted it, and depended on it for happiness, you would become an emotional beggar, and suffer later when it was withdrawn.

It felt like all the truth got whitewashed with fake happiness, she said, only it was not happy and it was worse than fake. It was dangerous

But why didn't I flood in the same way? Why was their happiness tenfold what I felt? Did I lack the proper connection between the senses and the heart? And then I realized that this was my habit. To hold back my feelings.

Too much happiness, said the man who returned, always overflows into tears of sorrow.

Mientras puedas mirar al cielo sin temor, sabrás que eres puro por dentro y que, pase lo que pase, volverás a ser feliz.

Aquel que es feliz puede hacer dichoso a los demás. Quien no pierde ni el valor ni la confianza, jamás perecerá por la miseria.

If what Proust says is true, that happiness is the absence of fever, then I will never know happiness. For I am possessed by a fever for knowledge, experience, and creation.