He smiles a lot. But I think there might be worms inside him making him smile.

He smiled because he was alive.

...he had long decided that abundant laughter should be the embellishment of the remainder of his days.

He smiled like a sun lamp.

His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.

Choice," he said heavily. A small smile disturbed his face. "We all think we have so much of that, don't we?

The kindness in his smile seemed infinite.

If a man smiles all the time, he’s probably selling something that doesn’t work.

When he smiled the fear flew away in little pieces of light...

He sniggered.
He didn't like to think of himself as the sort of person who giggled or sniggered, but he had to admit that he had been giggling and sniggering almost continuously for well over half an hour now.

If he had smiled why would he have smiled? To reflect that each one who enters imagines himself to be the first to enter whereas he is always the last term of a preceding series even if the first term of a succeeding one, each imagining himself to be first, last, only and alone whereas he is neither first nor last nor only nor alone in a series originating in and repeated to infinity.

He smiled at me, and it was not the worried, nervous smile from before, but a smile that meant he was pleased. And I don't remember him ever smiling at me that way again.

I saw him open his mouth wide. . . as though he had wanted to swallow all the air, all the earth, all the men before him.

He drank too much when he could get it, ate too much when it was there, talked too much all the time.