She may appear to you again: don't start." "You think then," I said, with secret horror, "she came out of my brain, and is now gone in there, and may glide out again at an hour and a day when I look not for her ?" "I think it a case of spectral illusion: I fear, following on and resulting from long-continued mental conflict." "Oh, Doctor John--I shudder at the thought of being liable to such an illusion! It seemed so real.

Is there no cure ?--no preventive ?" "Happiness is the cure--a cheerful mind the preventive: cultivate both." No mockery in this world ever sounds to me so hollow as that of being told to _cultivate_ happiness.

What does such advice mean?
Happiness is not a potato, to be planted in mould, and tilled with manure.

Happiness is a glory shining far down upon us out of Heaven.

She is a divine dew which the soul, on certain of its summer mornings, feels dropping upon it from the amaranth bloom and golden fruitage of Paradise.
"Cultivate happiness!" I said briefly to the doctor: "do _you_ cultivate happiness?
How do you manage ?" "I am a cheerful fellow by nature: and then ill-luck has never dogged me.