How happy he, who free from care
The rage of courts, and noise of towns; Contented breathes his native air,
In his own grounds

He is happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home.

A happy man is too satisfied with the present to dwell too much on the future.

An honest man here lies at rest,
The friend of man, the friend of truth,
The friend of age, and guide of youth:
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd,
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd;
If there's another world, he lives in bliss;
If there is none, he made the best of this.

In whatsoever countrey men are bred
(I know not by what sweetnesse of it led),
They nourish in their minds a glad desire,
Unto their native homes for to retire,

Happy the man, and happy he alone, He who can call today his own: He who, secure within, can say, Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.

Happy he, to whom heaven has given a piece of bread for which he is not bound to give thanks to any but heaven itself!

A man is happy so long as he chooses to be happy.

The man is happiest who lives from day to day and asks no more, garnering the simple goodness of life.

Happy is the man who can make a living by his hobby

Happy the man, and happy he alone,
he who can call today his own:
he who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.

Be fair or foul, or rain or shine
the joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.
Not Heaven itself, upon the past has power,
but what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

"He lives happy and master of himself who can say as each day passes on, "I have lived.

Happy the man...with a natural gift

for practising the right one [art] from the start — poetry, say, or fishing; whose nights are dreamless;
whose deep-sunk panoramas rise and pass

like daylight through the rod's eye or the nib's eye.

Happy is the man who has broken the chains which hurt the mind, and has given up worrying once and for all.