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Any intelligent person knows that life is a beautiful thing and that the purpose of life is to be happy," said my father as he watched the three beauties. "But it seems only idiots are ever happy. How can we explain this?

Orhan Pamuk (2011). “The Museum of Innocence”, p.144, Faber & Faber
Any intelligent person knows that life is a beautiful thing and that the purpose of life is to be happy, said my father as he watched the three beauties. But it seems only idiots are ever happy. How can we explain this?