A Book of Simple Living: Brief Notes from the Hills

by Ruskin Bond

In the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you. —Leo Tolstoy

After all, it is a good thing to laugh…and if a straw can tickle a man, it is an instrument of happiness. —John Dryden

A good monk would be a mild sort of fellow, a bit of a sensualist, capable of compassion for the world, but also for himself. He would know that it is all right not to climb every mountain.

A good monk would know that contentment is easier to attain than happiness, and that it is enough.

Happiness is a mysterious thing, to be found somewhere between too little and too much.

It’s the simple things in life that keep us from going crazy. They contribute more to our general happiness and health than acts of passion and high excitement.

And as I write this, I’m reminded of other consolations. The winter sun on old bones. The laughter of a child. A cricket singing in a shady nook. The smell of frying onions. A small bird’s nest. A kiss in the dark. New moon in a deep purple sky.

Governments rise and fall, machines rust away, great buildings crumble, but mountains still stand, rivers flow to the sea, and the earth is clothed with grass and verdure.

When all the wars are done, a butterfly will still be beautiful.

Slow down, and listen. There are sounds that are good to hear.

At night, rain drumming on the corrugated tin roof. It helps one to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn’t keep one from sleeping. And it is a good sound to read by—the rain outside, the quiet within.