Lust for life...

I realised today, as I was driving away, knowing that I shall soon return, that I will love you always. Even when my hair turns grey, if there's any left at all, I will love you still. When the smooth softness of youth is replaced by the delicate features of age, I will still want to touch your skin. When your face is full of the lines of every smile you have ever smiled, of every surprise I have seen flash through your eyes, when every tear you have ever cried has left its mark upon your face, I will treasure you all the more, because I was there to see it all - to see it all with you.

As it turns out, actual happiness looks pretty solid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery. It is neither spectacular nor grand. Neither ecstatic nor thrilling. And, of course, stability isn't nearly as exhilarating  as instability. And being content has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is quite boring, actually. Quite dull. One could even say that it's nothing special. Yet despite all this, once achieved and accepted, you will find grasping it, holding it tight, and never letting go.