Happiness depends, as Nature shows, Less on exterior things than most suppose.

Illusory joy is often worth more than genuine sorrow.

Eden is that old-fashioned House We dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode Until we drive away.

True joy is the earnest which we have of heaven, it is the treasure of the soul, and therefore should be laid in a safe place, and nothing in this world is safe to place it in.

Happiness does not lie in happiness, but in the achievement of it.

Present joys are more to flesh and blood, Than a dull prospect of a distant good.

Of mortals there is no one who is happy If wealth flows in upon one, one may be perhaps Luckier than one's neighbor, but still not happy.

These kind of hair-breadth missings of happiness look like the insults of Fortune.

Human felicity is produced not so much by great pieces of good fortune that seldom happen as by little advantages that occur every day.

What we call happiness in the strictest sense comes from the (preferably sudden) satisfaction of needs which have been dammed up to a high degree.