" Happiness,” I say, “is a cigarette and a desk to smoke it at.” He grins and offers the pack to me, but I shake my head. “Keep talking,” he says. “Some people think there’s a gene for it,” I say. “A happiness set point. Like in weight. Some people think it’s friendship. Aristotle thought it was virtue. No one has a different definition of anger, or sadness, or envy. But happiness is—it’s—a shimmer. It’s a note. Trying to describe it is like trying to describe music. Or color. Or taste. It’s reaching your toes down and finding the cool part of the sheets. It’s hearing the song you were trying to remember. It’s fresh cheesecake and a cup of coffee. Breast-feeding. Victory. Hope. It’s knowing exactly what you’re supposed to do. Love. Being loved. Falling in love. Making things. Feeling safe. Knowing exactly what you’re supposed to do— "

― Lisa Grunwald , Whatever Makes You Happy