What would a narrative of happiness be like? All that can be described is what prepares it, and then what destroys it.

I do not want to recollect. I should be afraid of preventing the future and of allowing the past to encroach on me. It is out of the utter forgetfulness of yesterday that I create every new hour's freshness. It is never enough for me to have been happy. I do not believe in dead things and cannot distinguish between being no more and never having been.

What would be the description of happines? Nothing, except what prepares and then what destroys it, can be told.

Nothing thwarts happiness so much as the memory of happiness.

Those who have eyes…do not know their happiness.

Through loyalty to the past, our mind refuses to realize that tomorrow's joy is possible only if today's makes way for it; that each wave owes the beauty of its line only to the withdrawal of the preceding one.

In order to be utterly happy the only thing necessary is to refrain from comparing this moment with other moments in the past, which I often did not fully enjoy because I was comparing them with other moments of the future.

To win ones joy through struggle is better than to yield to melancholy.