Quotes About Hope

Hope offered, then denied. A particular cruelty.

All will be as it should, if we just do our best.

There is a balm in Gilead," she read from the back, "to make the wounded whole—" "There's power enough in Heaven / To cure a sin-sick soul.

The fault is here, but so is the solution. That's the grace.

First you scare them, then you offer them your false hope. It's disgusting. But it works. And now the politicians, familiar with the power of fear, have bought your potion wholesale.

Ring the bells that still can ring, Forget your perfect offering, There's a crack in everything, That's how the light gets in.' 'What an extraordinary poem. Ruth Zardo?' 'Leonard Cohen. Clara used it in her piece. She wrote it on the wall behind the three of you, like graffiti.

I'll pray that you grow up a brave man in a brave country," Clara said. "I will pray you find a way to be useful," Gamache completed the quote. Reine-Marie dropped her eyes to her hands and saw the paper napkin twisted and shredded there. Clara nodded slowly. "I think you might be right. Peter went to Paris not to find a new artistic voice. It was simpler than that. He wanted to find a way to be useful.

There's more, but I won't go on. It's a poem by Rupert Brooke. He was a soldier in the First World War. It helped him in the hellhole of the trenches to think of the things he loved. It helped me too. I made mental lists and followed the things I love, the people I love, back to sanity. I still do.

How did you know He was God?' Gamache asked. 'When does a bush that burns become a Burning Bush?' Em asked and Gamache nodded. 'My despair disappeared. The grief remained, of course, but I knew then that the world wasn't a dark and desperate place. I was so relieved. In that moment I found hope. This strnager with the sign had given it to me. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but suddenly the gloom was lifted.' She paused a moment, remembering, a smile on her face.

There is always a road back. If we have the courage to look for it, and take it.

Do you know, Armand, I can't remember the last time I felt safe." "I know what you mean," said Gamache. "It feels as though this has been going on forever." "No, I don't mean just this mess. I mean all my life.

They don't teach this at medical school, but I've seen it in real life. People die in bits and pieces. A series of petites morts. Little deaths. They lose their sight, their hearing, their independence. Those are the physical ones. But there're others. Less obvious, but more fatal. They lose heart. They lose hope. They lose faith. They lose interest. And finally, they lose themselves.

They don't teach this at medical school, but I've seen it in real life. People dying in bits and pieces. A series of petites morts. Little deaths. They lose their sight, their hearing, their independence. Those are the physical ones. But there're others. Less obvious, but more fatal. They lose heart. They lose hope. They lose faith. They lose interest. And finally, they lose themselves.

She suspected if they looked in Gamache's bedside table, they'd find all sorts of lost souls he put there for safekeeping. And maybe a baguette.

After all, it's how the light gets in.

All children are sad, but some get over it.

Hope itself wasn't necessarily kind. Or a good thing.

Armand Gamache had seen the worst. But he'd also seen the best. Often in the same person.

Irene Finney filled the void with a child not loved then lost, but first lost, then loved.

Living in the wreckage of her future sure took the joy out of the present.

People die in bits and pieces. A series of petites morts. Little deaths. They lose their sight, their hearing, their independence. Those are the physical ones. But there're others. Less obvious, but more fatal. They lose heart. They lose hope. They lose faith. They lose interest. And finally, they lose themselves

Joy doesn't ever leave, you know. It's always with you. And one day you'll find it again.

She took the long way home," said Ruth. "Some do, you know. They seem lost. Sometimes they might even head off in the wrong direction. Lots of people give up, say they're gone forever, but I don't believe that. Some make it home, eventually.

Some might argue that Three Pines itself isn't real, and they'd be right, but limited in their view. The village does not exist, physically. But I think of it as existing in ways that are far more important and powerful. Three Pines is a state of mind. When we choose tolerance over hate. Kindness over cruelty. Goodness over bullying. When we choose to be hopeful, not cynical. Then we live in Three Pines.