Quotes About Contentment

Not sure why happiness should ever seem

it's happy from the inside,

Because, really . . . how was she ever going to be happy if she couldn't learn to let things like that be?

I look back because I felt at home with May and Everett, as much as I ever have anywhere. I don't want that time to be gone. But it is gone, and even if I had not left, still it would be gone. Only for the time I was meant to be there could I feel so at peace.

And I think to myself, If you think having and losing is so bad, try never having. Now that's devastating.

Why not make it into something better?" "Because it's enough.

She doesn't want to move forward into the next part of her life; she can't move backward in time even if she tries. And she doesn't much like where she is.

I am a practical girl, and a life is only so long. It should be spent in as much peace and good eating and good reading as possible and no undue excitement. That is all I am after.

The nicest room you've ever lived in doesn't have to be clean and white or full of translucent fresh monkfish slices with pea shoots delicately balanced on top. It can just be the place you were happiest and safest from the wind.

When you don't need anything anymore, the only thing you need is stories, and songs, and beauty, and spectacle. That's the good stuff. The stuff that reminds us who we are.

It calmed him to collect the things he knew and did not speak of.

I've always had enough, even if my enough and your enough are as different as an elephant and a minaret.

oh, come on, you must know 'Leave It Black.' I see a black door and I'm extremely satisfied with how it looks?

They don't know I'm beloved. But I know and that's plenty.

I was happy, the sun was high. I had enough.

Is she happy? She doesn't understand. She has never considered it. It is possible to be so entirely happy you never ask the question. She is a full glass submerged in water. Neither nor both full and empty. The inquiry, though kind, has no meaning for her.

Wouldn't you like to have comrades?' But she would not like that. She wanted only to rest and to read her old, rain-swollen books, turning the pages carefully, so carefully.

Their happiness was the kind which is fashioned of the comfortable disorder of sauvignon bottles and coffee cups in the sink, paperback thrillers with split spines on the nightstand, bathrobes hung haphazard on high-backed, brocade-seated chairs, shutters left open all night, and the hallway ever in need of new paint.

If having an imagination means imagining all the things you don't have - imagining, in fact, the impossibility of your own happiness - is an imagination a good thing?

Why worry about what might or might not happen when the heart is longing only to drink in the breath of this moment?

Perhaps there's a barometer of happiness that registers when you've been happy for too long and brings you back in line.

is that we don't always get what we deserve but we have to learn to live with what we get.

When Helen was happy, she was both childlike and maternal.

If you don't think every day is a good day, just try missing one.