To be happy is not only to be freed from the pains and diseases of the body, but from anxiety and vexation of spirit; not only to enjoy the pleasures of sense, but peace of conscience and tranquillity of mind.—Tillotson.
Happiness in this world, when it comes, comes incidentally. Make it the object of pursuit, and it leads us a wild-goose chase, and is never attained. Follow some other object, and very possibly we may find that we have caught happiness without dreaming of it.—Hawthorne.
The happiness of the tender heart is increased by what it can take away from the wretchedness of others.—J. Petit-Senn.
There is no man but may make his paradise.—Beaumont and Fletcher.
The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions,—the little, soon-forgotten charities of a kiss, a smile, a kind look, a heartfelt compliment in the disguise of a playful raillery, and the countless other infinitesimals of pleasant thought and feeling.—Coleridge.
To be happy is not the purpose for which you are placed in this world.—Froude.
The happiness of the human race in this world does not consist in our being devoid of passions, but in our learning to command them.—From the French.
Our happiness in this world depends on the affections we are enabled to inspire.—Duchesse de Praslin.
Hatred.—The passion of hatred is so durable and so inveterate that the surest prognostic of death in a sick man is a wish for reconciliation.—Bruyère.
We hate some persons because we do not know them; and we will not know them because we hate them.—Colton.