This weeks featured Happiness quotations:
God may allow His servant to
succeed when He has disciplined him to a point where he does not need to
succeed to be happy. The man who is elated by success and is cast down by
failure is still a carnal man. At best his fruit will have a worm in it.
A. W. Tozer Quote on Happiness
Be more dedicated to making solid achievements than in running after swift
but synthetic happiness.
Abdul Kalam Quote on Happiness
Happiness is a choice that requires effort at times
Aeschylus Quote on Happiness
It is not easy to find happiness in ourselves, and it is not possible to
find it elsewhere.
Agnes Repplier Quote on
Happiness
It isn't necessary to be rich and famous to be happy. It's only necessary to
be rich.
Alan Alda Quote on Happiness
The reason we have poverty is that we have no imagination. There are a great
many people accumulating what they think is vast wealth, but it's only
money... they don't know how to enjoy it, because they have no imagination.
Alan Watts Quote on Happiness
To be happy, we must not be too concerned with others
Albert Camus Quote on
Happiness
You are forgiven for your happiness and your successes only if you
generously consent to share them.
Albert Camus Quote on
Happiness
You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness
consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.
Albert Camus Quote on
Happiness
If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or things.
Albert Einstein Quote on
Happiness
Well-being and happiness never appeared to me as an absolute aim. I am even
inclined to compare such moral aims to the ambitions of a pig.
Albert Einstein Quote on
Happiness
The best years of your life are the ones in which you decide your problems
are your own. You do not blame them on your mother, the ecology, or the
president. You realize that you control your own destiny.
Albert Ellis Quote on
Happiness
Happiness? That's nothing more than a good health and a poor memory.
Albert Schweitzer Quote on
Happiness
Happiness is like coke something you get as a by-product in the process of
making something else
Aldous Huxley Quote on
Happiness
Most successes are unhappy.
That's why they are successes - they have to reassure themselves about
themselves by achieving something that the world will notice.
Agatha Christie Quote on
Unhappiness
Unhappiness does make people look stupid
Anatole France Quote on
Unhappiness
There is only one cause of unhappiness: the false beliefs you have in your
head, beliefs so widespread, so commonly held, that it never occurs to you
to question them.
Anthony de Mello Quote on
Unhappiness
The chief cause of failure and unhappiness is trading what we want most for
what we want in the moment Author Unknown Quote on Unhappiness
This weeks featured Happiness poems:
Happy Thought by Robert
Louis Stevenson
The world is so full of a number of things,
I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.
Happy As The Day Is Long by
James Tate
I take the long walk up the staircase to my secret room.
Today's big news: they found Amelia Earhart's shoe, size 9.
1992: Charlie Christian is bebopping at Minton's in 1941.
Today, the Presidential primaries have failed us once again.
We'll look for our excitement elsewhere, in the last snow
that is falling, in tomorrow's Gospel Concert in Springfield.
It's a good day to be a cat and just sleep.
Or to read the Confessions of Saint Augustine.
Jesus called the sons of Zebedee the Sons of Thunder.
In my secret room, plans are hatched: we'll explore the Smoky Mountains.
Then we'll walk along a beach: Hallelujah!
(A letter was just delivered by Overnight Express--
it contained nothing of importance, I slept through it.)
(I guess I'm trying to be "above the fray.")
The Russians, I know, have developed a language called "Lincos"
designed for communicating with the inhabitants of other worlds.
That's been a waste of time, not even a postcard.
But then again, there are tree-climbing fish, called anabases.
They climb the trees out of stupidity, or so it is said.
Who am I to judge? I want to break out of here.
A bee is not strong in geometry: it cannot tell
a square from a triangle or a circle.
The locker room of my skull is full of panting egrets.
I'm saying that strictly for effect.
In time I will heal, I know this, or I believe this.
The contents and furnishings of my secret room will be labeled
and organized so thoroughly it will be a little frightening.
What I thought was infinite will turn out to be just a couple
of odds and ends, a tiny miscellany, miniature stuff, fragments
of novelties, of no great moment. But it will also be enough,
maybe even more than enough, to suggest an immense ritual and tradition.
And this makes me very happy.
How still, how happy! by
Emily Bronte
How still, how happy! Those are words
That once would scarce agree together;
I loved the plashing of the surge -
The changing heaven the breezy weather,
More than smooth seas and cloudless skies
And solemn, soothing, softened airs
That in the forest woke no sighs
And from the green spray shook no tears.
How still, how happy! now I feel
Where silence dwells is sweeter far
Than laughing mirth's most joyous swell
However pure its raptures are.
Come, sit down on this sunny stone:
'Tis wintry light o'er flowerless moors -
But sit - for we are all alone
And clear expand heaven's breathless shores.
I could think in the withered grass
Spring's budding wreaths we might discern;
The violet's eye might shyly flash
And young leaves shoot among the fern.
It is but thought - full many a night
The snow shall clothe those hills afar
And storms shall add a drearier blight
And winds shall wage a wilder war,
Before the lark may herald in
Fresh foliage twined with blossoms fair
And summer days again begin
Their glory - haloed crown to wear.
Yet my heart loves December's smile
As much as July's golden beam;
Then let us sit and watch the while
The blue ice curdling on the stream -
The words the happy say by
Emily Dickinson
The words the happy say
Are paltry melody
But those the silent feel
Are beautiful
The Joy Of Being Poor by
Robert William Service
I
Let others sing of gold and gear, the joy of being rich;
But oh, the days when I was poor, a vagrant in a ditch!
When every dawn was like a gem, so radiant and rare,
And I had but a single coat, and not a single care;
When I would feast right royally on bacon, bread and beer,
And dig into a stack of hay and doze like any peer;
When I would wash beside a brook my solitary shirt,
And though it dried upon my back I never took a hurt;
When I went romping down the road contemptuous of care,
And slapped Adventure on the back -- by Gad! we were a pair;
When, though my pockets lacked a coin, and though my coat was old,
The largess of the stars was mine, and all the sunset gold;
When time was only made for fools, and free as air was I,
And hard I hit and hard I lived beneath the open sky;
When all the roads were one to me, and each had its allure . . .
Ye Gods! these were the happy days, the days when I was poor.
II
Or else, again, old pal of mine, do you recall the times
You struggled with your storyettes, I wrestled with my rhymes;
Oh, we were happy, were we not? -- we used to live so "high"
(A little bit of broken roof between us and the sky);
Upon the forge of art we toiled with hammer and with tongs;
You told me all your rippling yarns, I sang to you my songs.
Our hats were frayed, our jackets patched, our boots were down at heel,
But oh, the happy men were we, although we lacked a meal.
And if I sold a bit of rhyme, or if you placed a tale,
What feasts we had of tenderloins and apple-tarts and ale!
And yet how often we would dine as cheerful as you please,
Beside our little friendly fire on coffee, bread and cheese.
We lived upon the ragged edge, and grub was never sure,
But oh, these were the happy days, the days when we were poor.
III
Alas! old man, we're wealthy now, it's sad beyond a doubt;
We cannot dodge prosperity, success has found us out.
Your eye is very dull and drear, my brow is creased with care,
We realize how hard it is to be a millionaire.
The burden's heavy on our backs -- you're thinking of your rents,
I'm worrying if I'll invest in five or six per cents.
We've limousines, and marble halls, and flunkeys by the score,
We play the part . . . but say, old chap, oh, isn't it a bore?
We work like slaves, we eat too much, we put on evening dress;
We've everything a man can want, I think . . . but happiness.
Come, let us sneak away, old chum; forget that we are rich,
And earn an honest appetite, and scratch an honest itch.
Let's be two jolly garreteers, up seven flights of stairs,
And wear old clothes and just pretend we aren't millionaires;
And wonder how we'll pay the rent, and scribble ream on ream,
And sup on sausages and tea, and laugh and loaf and dream.
And when we're tired of that, my friend, oh, you will come with me;
And we will seek the sunlit roads that lie beside the sea.
We'll know the joy the gipsy knows, the freedom nothing mars,
The golden treasure-gates of dawn, the mintage of the stars.
We'll smoke our pipes and watch the pot, and feed the crackling fire,
And sing like two old jolly boys, and dance to heart's desire;
We'll climb the hill and ford the brook and camp upon the moor . . .
Old chap, let's haste, I'm mad to taste the Joy of Being Poor.
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