The groundwork of all happiness is health.

The English essayist Leigh Hunt, who lived during the Romantic age, once wrote: “The groundwork of all happiness is health.” Though brief, these words contain a wisdom as ancient as the dawn of civilization. Hunt, who suffered through illness and poverty yet remained a philosopher of cheerfulness, understood that all the treasures of life — love, art, ambition, even joy itself — rest upon one sacred foundation: the well-being of the body and the calm of the spirit. Without health, even the brightest blessings turn dim; with it, even modest things shine like gold.

To call health the groundwork is to recognize it as the soil from which all happiness grows. A man may have wealth, yet if he cannot rise from his bed, his gold becomes meaningless. A woman may possess beauty and talent, but if her strength wanes, her joy fades with it. Hunt saw clearly that the vigor of the body fuels the energy of the mind. Without balance in the flesh, the soul becomes weary; without harmony in the heart, the world loses its color. Health, therefore, is not a luxury, but the quiet miracle upon which every act of living depends.

In this teaching, we hear echoes of the ancients. Hippocrates, the father of medicine, taught that the art of healing was not merely to cure disease but to preserve the natural equilibrium of life — through moderation, movement, and joy. The Greeks called it eudaimonia, the harmony of body and spirit that allowed a person to live nobly. Leigh Hunt, writing centuries later, gave the same truth a modern voice: that the pursuit of happiness must begin not in pleasure, but in preservation — in caring for the vessel that carries the soul through time.

History offers countless witnesses to this truth. Consider Franklin D. Roosevelt, the American president who, though struck by polio and bound to a wheelchair, found strength not by denying his limitations but by mastering them. Through discipline of mind and care of spirit, he led a nation through depression and war. He understood, as Hunt did, that health is not the absence of weakness, but the triumph of vitality over adversity. Even when the body falters, the pursuit of inner health — through courage, rest, and purpose — sustains happiness.

There is a profound humility in Hunt’s wisdom. It calls us to gratitude — to see each breath, each heartbeat, as a quiet miracle. In youth, people waste their strength in haste and indulgence; in age, they beg for the vigor they once scorned. The wise, however, treat their health as sacred — not by fearing its loss, but by honoring it through balance, nourishment, and calm. They rise early to greet the sun, walk among trees, eat with temperance, and let laughter be their daily medicine. For they know that happiness is not built in palaces, but in habits.

Happiness, as Hunt reminds us, does not bloom from possessions or praise, but from the serene rhythm of a well-tended life. A sound body gives birth to a sound mind, and together they form the music of peace. The one who guards his health guards his joy; the one who neglects it builds his house on sand. True happiness, therefore, begins not in the mind’s desires, but in the body’s harmony — in the care of the living temple that shelters the soul.

The lesson is simple and eternal: tend to your health as you would to a sacred fire. Feed it with moderation, shield it from excess, and let it warm you through the cold seasons of life. Breathe deeply, move often, eat mindfully, rest without guilt, and keep your thoughts gentle. These are not luxuries — they are the foundations of every other joy.

Thus, Leigh Hunt’s words ring across centuries like a soft commandment: guard your health, for in it lies the seed of all happiness. Wealth fades, fame vanishes, beauty withers — but the light of a healthy heart endures. To live well is not to live long, but to live fully — with body and soul in quiet, radiant accord.