From Essays After Montaigne
...hee now at his owne cost verified the advertisement Solon had before times given him; which was, that no man, what cheerefull and blandishing countenance soever fortune shewed them may rightly deeme himselfe happie, till such time as he have passed the last day of his life, by reason of the uncertaintie and vicissitude of humane things, which by a very light motive, and slight occasion, are often changed from one to another cleane contrary state and degree.
So may that good advice of Solon be taken with reason. But forsomuch as he is a Philosopher, with whom the favours or disfavours of fortune, and good or ill lucke have no place, and are not regarded by him; and puissances and greatnesses, and accidents of qualitie, are well-nigh indifferent: I deeme it very likely he had a further reach, and meant that the same good fortune of our life, which dependeth of the tranquillitie and contentment of a welborne minde, and of the resolution and assurance of a well ordered soule, should never be ascribed unto man, untill he have beene seene play the last act of his comedie and without doubt the hardest.
To death doe I referre the essay of my studies fruit. There shall wee see whether my discourse proceed from my heart, or from my mouth.
Happiness as I've experienced it is best described as outside of time. In its midst, I lose sight of past and future. I become fully resident in the fleeting differential that holds past and future eternally separated. Perhaps this is why happiness is so often characterized as fleeting. I'm not sure that so transient yet timeless a notion of happiness can be applied to so persistent yet time-bound a thing as life.
I've found myself in moments of deep happiness, and I've suffered through periods during which I've lost track of that peace and the means to reach it. If asked, I'd be unable to weigh those experiences against each other and determine, on balance, whether or not my life has been happy. In my moments of unhappiness, I can remember that I've been happy, but those memories do nothing to dispel my unhappiness. And in my moments of happiness, focused as I am in the present, I cannot remember that I've been unhappy (at least not without dispelling, or at least mitigating, my happiness). Thus, when unhappy, I would answer that I've had an unhappy life, and when happy, I would answer that I've had a happy life. So the last answer that I could give would reflect my state at my death. But my final answer wouldn't necessarily be definitive. I don't know that a happy ending alone makes a happy book. In assessing our own lives, we may not want to wait until it's over to decide that we have in fact been happy.
If, however, we wish to know whether or not those instances of happiness that we have found are real, then there may be nothing better to test that peace of mind against than our death. If it deserts us then, we probably never had it. But if it remains, it's almost certainly true. The finest example of serenity in the face of death that I've seen (even if my experience of it was only second-hand at best) was the passing of George Harrison. Throughout his adult life, he engaged in a fairly public quest after God's grace. Though his expressions of that quest have on occasion been subject to ridicule (and on aesthetic grounds, perhaps justifiably so), the fruit of it--his understanding--seems to have offered him supreme comfort. I found the composure with which he faced his untimely death deeply inspiring. Here was a man with a close, loving family, creative energy and outlets, and every material comfort and resource imaginable, who calmly shrugged it all off in his pursuit of grace. That he was able to achieve that brings hope to my own search for truth.
7:18:08 AM 
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