True Happiness
An Englishman, a Frenchman, and a Russian were once discussing the meaning of true happiness.
The Englishman said, "True happiness, my friends, is rising early on a frosty autumn morning, getting on top of a good horse, and galloping off behind the hounds in pursuit of the fox. A hard ride over fields and fences and rivulets until the fox is brought down. A ride back with the ears and the tail and then sitting before a roaring fire with a glass of good port. Ah, that is true happiness."
The Frenchman said, "That is not true happiness. That is merely animal pleasure. True happiness is meeting with the love of your life, having an intimate meal in a topnotch restaurant with champagne, and then retiring to a wonderful hotel room, where you can make frantic and impassioned love all night long. Ah, that is true happiness."
The Russian said, "That is not true happiness. That is merely a good time. True happiness comes when you are sitting in your apartment after a hard day at the factory, your little Ivan on your knee, and reading your copy of 'Pravda'. There comes a knock at the door. Three men in ill-fitting brown suits come storming in and say, 'Stepan Stepanovich?' and you say, 'He lives in the room upstairs.' Ah, that is true happiness."
An Englishman, a Frenchman, and a Russian were once discussing the meaning of true happiness.
The Englishman said, "True happiness, my friends, is rising early on a frosty autumn morning, getting on top of a good horse, and galloping off behind the hounds in pursuit of the fox. A hard ride over fields and fences and rivulets until the fox is brought down. A ride back with the ears and the tail and then sitting before a roaring fire with a glass of good port. Ah, that is true happiness."
The Frenchman said, "That is not true happiness. That is merely animal pleasure. True happiness is meeting with the love of your life, having an intimate meal in a topnotch restaurant with champagne, and then retiring to a wonderful hotel room, where you can make frantic and impassioned love all night long. Ah, that is true happiness."
The Russian said, "That is not true happiness. That is merely a good time. True happiness comes when you are sitting in your apartment after a hard day at the factory, your little Ivan on your knee, and reading your copy of 'Pravda'. There comes a knock at the door. Three men in ill-fitting brown suits come storming in and say, 'Stepan Stepanovich?' and you say, 'He lives in the room upstairs.' Ah, that is true happiness."