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"I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. Nothing more than an empty house, the warm hazy weariness from a day spent setting strawberry runners in the sun, a glass of cool sweet milk, and a shallow dish of blueberries bathed in cream. When one is so tired at the end of a day one must sleep, and at the next dawn there are more strawberry runners to set, and so one goes on living, near the earth. At times like this I'd call myself a fool to ask for more."
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Exlpore more Contentment quotes
"When you're unhappy, you get to pay a lot of attention to yourself. And you get to take yourself oh so very seriously. Your truly happy people, which is to say, your people who truly like themselves, they don't think about themselves very much. Your unhappy person resents it when you try to cheer him up, because that means he has to stop dwellin' on himself and start payin' attention to the universe. Unhappiness is the ultimate form of self-indulgence."
"Savour a slow-paced contented life."
"Man needs only a small patch of earth for his pleasures, and a smaller one still to rest beneath."
"I believe in the possibility of happiness if one cultivates intuition and outlives the grosser passions including optimism."
"Money may buy you the means to a happiness, but it cannot buy happiness itself."
"He is rich that is satisfied."
"To have a full stomach and fixed income are no small things ."
"The rustic, the reader of novels, the pure ascetic: these three are truly happy men."
"Expectations make people miserable, so whatever yours are, lower them. You'll definitely be happier."
Explore more quotes by Sylvia Plath
"I moved in front of the medicine cabinet. If I looked in the mirror while I did it, it would be like watching somebody else, in a book or a play."
"What obsession do men have for destruction and murder? Who do we electrocute men for murdering an individual and then pin a purple heart on them for mass slaughter of someone arbitrarily labeled 'enemy?"
"Brave love, dreamnot of staunching such strict flame, but come,lean to my wound; burn on, burn on."
"This boy - his name was Eric - said he thought it disgusting the way all the girls at my college stood around on the porches under the porch lights and in the bushes in plain view, necking madly before the one o'clock curfew, so everybody passing by could see them. A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals."
"Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged and selected. I am a victim of it then, not a master."
"I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print, the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig-tree."
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