Happiness has something profoundly painful and heavy about it. It involves accepting to plunge again into our condition, out of which we are trying to escape. Like a ploughshare, we have to be unceasingly dug profoundly into full earth, by a merciless hand, in order to find, in darkness and effort, our usefulness and value.
Happiness is like a fire, it is impossible to create one which will be only good for our personal use. We have to produce enough to heat to warm up a world before being able, like the last of our poor, to come and sit down by the fire we have offered to others.
You must be absolutely happy, at once, under pain of never becoming so. What you miss cannot deprive you of happiness. You will always miss something. If you cannot be happy without it, you will never be so. You must give happiness credit. You must be happy in advance, you must trust in being happy, you must be happy even when you are unhappy.
Ordinarily, we do not know how to go about being happy, we are happy without knowing it, or without wanting to know it, awkwardly, resentfully, tepidly. A moment of forgetfulness, of innocence or faith, and we will find ourselves reconciled with life, we will find it good, just, gratuitous. As soon as we stop blaming life for what it has not given to us, we will see that it was only our lack of confidence which made life seem in need of justification.