Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be.
Remember that very little is needed to make a happy life.
Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.
Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.
Never regret. If it's good, it's wonderful. If it's bad, it's experience.
The first recipe for happiness is: avoid too lengthy meditation on the past.
Happiness is the meaning and the purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence.
Men spend their lives in anticipations,—in determining to be vastly happy at some period when they have time. But the present time has one advantage over every other—it is our own. Past opportunities are gone, future have not come. We may lay in a stock of pleasures, as we would lay in a stock of wine; but if we defer the tasting of them too long, we shall find that both are soured by age.
Reflect upon your present blessings of which every man has many - not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.
The past has no power over the present moment.
Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.
A mother's happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.
The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, nor to worry about the future, but to live the present moment wisely and earnestly. There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.
Let us be grateful to people who make us happy.
You have to open up to the world and learn optimism...Contentment with the past, happiness with the present, and hope for the future. Learned optimisim.
I know not why there is such a melancholy feeling attached to the remembrance of past happiness, except that we fear that the future can have nothing so bright as the past.
Past happiness augments present wretchedness.
There is no greater pain than to remember, in our present grief, past happiness.
I often remember in this false, distorted way, and the memories are often cloaked in the colour of the sun. Sometimes I feel nostalgia for things I knew I hated when they were happening, for days spent at the beach or the swimming pool with my sisters. When I pick my memories apart, I realise my mind has merely played back the objective ingredients, the clichéd apparatus of happiness, the sun, the sound of splashing water, ice-cream on parched lips and cold fizzy drink on a hot tongue, and laugher too. My memory often peddles on the falsehood of past happiness. I should know this.
or simply:
