The attainment of happiness is synonymous with the goal of life, the ultimate state of existence. Yet, as it is a state of being, rather than a physical object, Aristotle would appear reasonable in his belief: "happiness depends on ourselves." There is no one path to reach this state of mental serendipity, ineffable bliss - an ethereal denouement to time's inevitable conflict of love and tragedy. Happiness can yield from a beloved relationship, a grand achievement, an ephemeral moment of equanimity, an epiphany of life itself. Its essence derives perhaps from nature: an aurora in solitude, the misty July petrichor, the mellifluous songs of nightingales, the iridescence of frosted peaks. Or maybe, it is fulfillment of the human soul which sparks happiness: the realization of love, the quest for acceptance. Happiness can be found anywhere - it is the evolution from our tendency to crave, to our ability to admire. From no sentiment is it isolated and to no being is it denied. A dalliance, an epoch, a perpetual lifestyle...your choice.