After sixty, the self-questioning of middle age is obsolete.
Prudence suspects that happiness is a bait set by risk.
The supposed unhappiness of the rich is always a cheerful topic of conversation.
You are as happy as you think you are, but not necessarily as miserable as you imagine.
Pleasure usually comes when called, but not happiness.
Cheerfulness is a policy; happiness is a talent.
Happiness is often hard-hearted.
Faith prefers the absurd to the plausible.
Both faith and cynicism make judgment too easy.
Faith no doubt moves mountains, but not necessarily to where we want them.
Bravery despite defeat is praiseworthy. Victory despite cowardice is beyond praise.
Courage overrides self-doubt, but does not end it.
Looking backward at what has been lost, I feel sad, then indifferent, and at last relieved.
Sometimes the given seems like something taken away.
Attachments and bereavements are inseparable.
Since we hate the same people, we should be friends.
Hatred makes me energetic, but confused.
Unconditional love is a lofty ideal, but unconditional hate is a fact well documented by history.
I have forgiven you. Nevertheless, begone!
Full of troubles, the mind is still the only Garden of Delight.