Happiness serves hardly any other purpose than to make unhappiness possible.

Happiness: an agreeable sensation arising from contemplating the misery of another.

Happiness, so they say, makes one selfish... Alas! this happiness that is in store for some to the detriment of others must make one so, indeed. O my God! Shared happiness, that which one would find by working for the happiness of one's fellow men, would make man as great as his destiny on earth, as good as yourself!

Every form of happiness if one, every desire is driven by the same motor — by our love for a single value, for the highest potentiality of our own existence — and every achievement is an expression of it.

Happiness is the perpetual possession of being well deceived.

Possibly the only dismaying aspect of excellence is that it makes living in a world of mediocrity an ongoing prospect of living hell.

Happiness is the longing for repetition.

Happiness is pretty simple: someone to love, something to do, something to look forward to.

Happiness is the experience of living every moment with love, grace and gratitude.

Happiness is being on the beam with life — to feel the pull of life.

Happiness is the only thing that multiplies when you share it.

Nobody is ever made happy by winning the lottery, buying a house, getting a promotion or even finding true love. Peopleare made happy by one thing and one thing only – pleasant sensations in their bodies.

Happiness is not to be achieved at the command of emotional whims. Happiness is not the satisfaction of whatever irrational wishes you might blindly attempt to indulge. Happiness is a state of non-contradictory joy — a joy without penalty or guilt, a joy that does not clash with any of your values and does not work for your own destruction, not the joy of escaping from your mind, but of using your mind's fullest power, not the joy of faking reality, but of achieving values that are real, not the joy of a drunkard, but of a producer. Happiness is possible only to a rational man, the man who desires nothing but rational goals, seeks nothing but rational values and finds his joy in nothing but rational actions.

For happiness, he told himself, isn’t being loved; that was just a slightly nauseous satisfaction of vanity. Happiness is loving and perhaps seizing a few short illusory moments of intimacy with the object of one’s love.