Quotes About Hope

like all male lovers he had quickly built a rose-coloured version that matched his own hope:

Hope may or may not be a Thing with Feathers. But it's definitely a Thing with Claws.

That was one of the things about him. He walked this line between the comic and the poignant, between the certainly doomed and the hopelessly hopeful. In time I came to think it the common ground of all humanity.

The thing is, though, every time I think I'm just gonna give up—that I can't possibly do it, that I'm just going to curl up alone somewhere and waste away, well, I always keep trying. I mean, for some reason I manage to make it through another day and then another day after that.

Again, fix the outsides and maybe my insides won't be such a dark place.

And I have this, for now. I just wish I could figure out how to keep my fucking mind from going all over the place - dwelling on all the loss and pain and everything I'VE DONE - then jumping off into the future to how impossible it all seems.

Trying is terrifying because I know I will just fail. But I do want things to be different. I do...I am so afraid. I'm afraid to hope again.

It seems like there is something about sharing your insides with the world that gives other people strength and hope and helps them not to feel so alone.

I buried it and buried it and turned away from everything light and sweet and delicate and lovely and became so scared and scarred and burdened and fucked up. But that goodness is there, inside---it must be. "Every day, in every way, It's getting better and better…" I let those words fall, wanting---wanting so bad to believe them.

They say suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Well, the problem of being human isn't really so temporary and sometimes a permanent solution seems like the best possible way out.

Basically I've just really been trusting in the process here. I want it to work. I want to change and I actually have hope that it might be possible. A lot of this is due to some of the more intense alternative therapies they offer here, like Somatic Experiencing. Through these sessions I've been able to recall events from my childhood that I had completely suppressed from my memory.

I'm trying to work on a children's book and a screenplay about zombies that take over a drug rehab. These writing projects usually go nowhere, but it feels like I always have to be working on something. Writing gives me a purpose. I think in some ways it has helped keep me alive. Without it I'm not sure I would ever have enough hope to get sober—to make that decision to live.

I shudder when I imagine getting old. Up until a few months ago, I didn't even have hope of surviving past my twenties. Now that I want to live again, all this sickness and decay makes me feel humble and even slightly humiliated. How could I have so willingly thrown my life away when all these people are fighting desperately, every day, to save theirs?

Depression is a grim and blinding curse: you can't see outside it. You can't see hope, or love, or how spring will follow winter.

George Eliot: "It is never too late to be what you might have been.

How do you ever get over the love of a child? How do you get beyond it?

Even the most difficult things which you think you'll never get over you do get over, and in a trice you find they're behind you and you have to go on. New things await you.

La cosa, si disse, sarebbe passata perché nella vita le cose passano sempre, come in un fiume. Anche quelle difficili che ti sembra impossibile superare, le superi, e in un attimo te le trovi alle spalle. Devi andare avanti. Ti aspettano cose nuove.

Je zult zien, je zult zien, ooit wordt alles anders, morgen nog niet misschien, maar ooit wordt alles anders. Je zult zien, je zult zien, het is nog niet voorbij. Ik weet niet hoe en ik weet niet waar, maar je zult zien, ooit wordt alles anders.

Winter always turns into Spring

The arc of our evolutionary history is long. But it bends towards goodness

His ships might arrive in time to save the day, or they might arrive in time to be destroyed in their turn.

There was very little wind as they set out. The battle was unlikely to happen that day.

In sorrow I am sending a feeble voice, O Six Powers of the World. Hear me in my sorrow, for I may never call again. O make my people live!