The happiness you wot of is not a hundredth part of what you enjoy.—Charles Buxton.
Every human soul has the germ of some flowers within; and they would open if they could only find sunshine and free air to expand in. I always told you that not having enough of sunshine was what ailed the world. Make people happy, and there will not be half the quarreling, or a tenth part of the wickedness there is.—Mrs. L. M. Child.
Comparison, more than reality, makes men happy, and can make them wretched.—Feltham.
Happiness and misery are the names of two extremes, the utmost bounds whereof we know not.—Locke.
There comes forever something between us and what we deem our happiness.—Byron.
Philosophical happiness is to want little; civil or vulgar happiness is to want much, and to enjoy much.—Burke.
How sad a sight is human happiness to those whose thoughts can pierce beyond an hour.—Young.
Plenteous joys, wanton in fullness.—Shakespeare.
Happiness is always the inaccessible castle which sinks in ruin when we set foot on it.—Arsène Houssaye.
For ages happiness has been represented as a huge precious stone, impossible to find, which people seek for hopelessly. It is not so; happiness is a mosaic, composed of a thousand little stones, which separately and of themselves have little value, but which united with art form a graceful design.—Mme. de Girardin.