Happiness is good health and a bad memory.

The words of Ingrid Bergman, “Happiness is good health and a bad memory,” carry a wisdom as light as laughter yet as deep as sorrow. Beneath their simple wit lies a profound truth about the human condition: that peace of mind comes not only from the body’s well-being, but from the soul’s ability to let go. For the healthiest heart is not merely one that beats strongly, but one unburdened by resentment, regret, and the ghosts of yesterday. Bergman, who lived through fame, exile, scandal, and triumph, understood that joy belongs not to those who remember everything—but to those who remember enough to learn, and forget enough to heal.

To possess good health is to be in harmony with the world. The ancients called it eucrasia—the balance of forces within the body and spirit. When the body thrives, the senses awaken; when the mind rests, the heart rejoices. Yet Bergman’s genius lies in pairing this truth with its spiritual counterpart: the bad memory, which is not ignorance, but wisdom freed from pain. She reminds us that happiness is not perfection, but forgiveness—the grace to move forward without dragging the chains of yesterday’s wounds.

The origin of this quote arises from Bergman’s reflections in the later years of her life. As one of the greatest actresses of the 20th century, she endured both adoration and condemnation. When she left Hollywood to follow her heart to Italy, she was vilified by the press, called immoral, even banned from American screens for years. Yet she did not crumble beneath shame or bitterness. Instead, she rebuilt her life, her career, and her peace of mind. Her words about happiness are not naive—they are the hard-won truth of one who learned that to live fully, one must release the past.

History, too, offers countless souls who have embodied this wisdom. Think of Nelson Mandela, who, after twenty-seven years in prison, emerged not with vengeance, but with forgiveness. His health, preserved by discipline of body and serenity of spirit, became the vessel of his nation’s healing. Had he remembered every insult and cruelty, his heart would have remained in chains long after his body was freed. His strength came not from memory, but from the courage to forget, to begin anew. In this way, he proved Bergman’s insight: that happiness blooms not in the soil of remembrance, but in the sunlight of release.

A bad memory, in this sense, is not the loss of knowledge but the refusal to be ruled by pain. It is the art of letting old sorrows fade into lessons, and lessons fade into peace. Many live imprisoned by their own recollections—replaying betrayals, rehearsing failures, resurrecting griefs. But to forget, in the way Bergman meant it, is to allow the heart to breathe again. Just as the body sheds its old cells to renew itself, so must the mind shed its past to remain alive.

Good health, likewise, is not merely physical strength—it is the alignment of the body with the soul. No diet, no exercise, no medicine can restore a spirit poisoned by resentment. The healthy person is one who knows balance: work without obsession, rest without guilt, love without fear. Happiness is born where body and memory meet in harmony—one light, one cleansed, both alive to the present.

The lesson, then, is both simple and sacred: guard your health as the vessel of your spirit, and guard your memory only for what nourishes the soul. Do not allow the mind to dwell on what cannot be changed, nor the heart to rot in old sorrow. Let go, as the river lets go of the stone, and continue forward with grace. Each morning is a new life; each breath, a new chance to begin again.

And so, let these words be passed down as an enduring counsel: to live happily, one must live lightly. Care for the body that carries you through the world. Forget the wounds that weigh you down. For in the rhythm of health and forgetfulness lies the eternal secret of joy—a joy not stolen by time, but renewed by every sunrise.