To be happy, we must not be too concerned with others.
It takes time to live. Like any work of art, life needs to be thought about.
Still, obviously, one can't be sensible all the time.
The desire for possession is insatiable, to such a point that it can survive even love itself. To love, therefore, is to sterilize the person one loves.
Yes, I'm happy, in human terms.
Accepting the absurdity of everything around us is one step, a necessary experience: it should not become a dead end. It arouses a revolt that can become fruitful