I had the epiphany that laughter was light, and light was laughter, and that this was the secret of the universe.

Laughter and light become one thing in this line: a sudden, almost mystical sense that joy illuminates the world the way brightness does, and that both reveal something hidden. It comes from Donna Tartt's novel The Secret History, where the narrator says it in a moment of giddy, near-drunken ecstasy. It is a character's feeling, then, not necessarily the author's creed. Still, it fits the book's fascination with classical Greece, especially the Dionysian idea that surrendering to rapture can open a door to truth that cold reason cannot. Many mystical traditions link light with understanding, and here laughter takes that role.

The word "epiphany" matters, and so does a gentle irony: revelations like this feel total in the moment and may not survive the morning. That makes the thought more human, not less.

A person today could apply it modestly. When a week feels heavy, make room on purpose for shared laughter, perhaps by calling the old friend who finds the same things funny. Notice how the room, and your worries, look a little different afterward. It is no cure, only a reminder that lightness can help you see.