One could be happy not only without love, but despite it.

Though life is very glorious, it is difficult.

Happiness is such a beautiful journey. It has its ups and downs, whether it’s in marriage or whether it’s in a career. Things are never perfect, but through love, you continue to persevere, and you move through them. And then through that storm, a beautiful sun emerges, and inevitably, another storm comes. And guess what? You ride that one out too. So, I think love is a sort of determination, a persistence to go through the good times and the bad times with someone or something you truly love

Joy is a mystery because it can happen anywhere, anytime, even under the most unpromising circumstances, even in the midst of suffering, with tears in its eyes....

But life is glorious when it is happy; days are carefree when they are happy; the interplay of thought and imagination is far superior to that of muscle and sinew. Let me tell you, if you don't know it from your own experience, that reading a good book, losing yourself in the interest of words and thoughts, is for some people (me, for instance) an incredible intensity of happiness.

I am caught in a kind of wonder, I am still with joy.

Yes, a lifetime of happiness. If it were only the first half hour's happiness, Tavy, I would buy it for you with my last penny. But a lifetime of happiness! No man alive could bear it: it would be hell on earth.

I wonder if it's possible to have a love affair that lasts forever.

How mysterious it is, to be in love. For you can be in love with one who knows nothing of you. Perhpas our greatest happinesses spring from such longings-being in love with one who is oblivious of you.

Everyone wanted to believe that endless love was possible. She'd believed in it once too, back when she was eighteen. But she knew that love was messy, just like life. It took turns that people couldn't foresee or even understand, leaving a long trail of regret in its wake. And almost always, those regrets led to the kinds of what if questions that could never be answered.

We are, when we love, in an abnormal state, capable of giving at once to the most apparently simple accident, an accident which may at any moment occur, a seriousness which in itself it would not entail. What makes us so happy is the presence in our hearts of an unstable element which we contrive perpetually to maintain and of which we cease almost to be aware so long as it is not displaced. In reality, there is in love a permanent strain of suffering which happiness neutralises, make potential only, postpones, but which may at any moment become, what it would long since have been had we not obtained what we wanted, excruciating.

Life's great happiness is to be convinced we are loved.

One night she came back from her daily walk stunned by the revelation that one could be happy not only without love, but despite it.

oh, this happiness is strong stuff. It's marvelously liberating.