“You're into happiness?" the technician says, her eyes never leaving the computer screen."I'm writing a book about it," I say."About happiness?" she says."Yes," I say." Didn't the Dali Lama already write that book?”

“Look," I say at last. 'You know me. You know my life. I always thought-or hoped-""You thought what?""I just want to be happy," I finally say.She stares at me hard."You have been," she says.”

“I hope we're not intruding,' she croons, sweetly. "Well, I say, "I was trying to get a little work done." I give T.J. a fuck-you-I-don't-look-weird-get-the-hell-out-of-here-look, but apparently only I know what the look is meant to convey.”

“But 'contentment'. Is that happiness? Or is that only resignation wearing a funny hat?”

“There is a strong connection between our ability to use our hands in useful work, and our ability to find happiness in daily life... daily repetitive tasks (are) the compulsive calmness that infuses our pedestrian chores with poetry. - Annie Modessitt”

“Clearly I have a talent now: I can trace every single thing back to a certain, scared place in the map of my heart.”

“I slide down between the sheets beside him, like a secret letter slipped into the safety of an envelope. And dream of ancient places, where everyone is young.”