With all due respect to Tolstoy I'm telling you the opposite is true:
Unhappy people are mainly plunged in conventional suffering, living out in
sterile routine one of five or six threadbare clichés of misery. Whereas
happiness is a rare, fine vessel, a sort of Chinese vase, and the few people who
have reached it have shaped and formed it line by line over the course of years,
each in his own image and likeness, each in his own character, so that no two
happinesses are alike.
not only does mr. oz write astoundingly beautiful gems like the above, but he speaks truths while doing it.
last night was bars and books. i enjoyed myself, but more than anything it has planted the idea of beginning my own book group that is maybe possibly smaller... anyone interested?