Happiness or the never ending pursuit of it

Happiness is truly what we make of it. There is no right or wrong way to come about it because many people can say this photograph brings happiness. Some see the girl and that brings happiness. Some see the hot air balloons and that brings happiness. Some eve see the beach and value that as happiness. Me? I see the congregation of all things combined and see tha beauty in every aspect of it. The art to me brings happiness. The woman is beautiful, the balloons are breathtaking and the beach is gorgeous with a mountain range far in the distant and a setting sun. Yet it's everything in here that puts me in awe. The color of the sun to through the dress and the delightful smile on this womans face that makes me feel good. There is no price to happiness. We can find it anywhere in our walks of life. For me I search for it through art and try to take the surrealism in life and bring it to reality. I can't live in reality because it becomes mundane, expected. I try to look at the world through a surreal vision and give people insight to what I see and how I view things. Now I'm not condoning my actions and views as gospel but feel we should all walk this earth through our own vision and not a manufactured one. I'm just doing my best to take mine and place it on a canvas as best as I can.

This here is Shakespeare's sixth sonnet. I read all of his sonnets not only as inspiration but to indulge myself into someone else's vision of life. To gain idea's how to place my vision on a paper through ink. His sonnets are so raw and emotional you can't help but put things in perspective in life. I don't place it here to give you a breakdown but for you to break it down and take what you may from it to touch you maybe in a different way it touched me.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.