Quotes About Hope

But now, in the final hours, even hope had vanished. Yet he could smile. At a point without hope he had found contentment. He knew he had tried and there was nothing to be sorry for. And this was complete victory, because it was a victory over himself.

Well, why not? My dream woman has always been been unavailable to me. What difference does a mere three-quarters of a century make?

Nobody a writer ever loved is dead.

Who is the ingenious inventor of the type-writing machine that opens such a wide field of hope for the cautious caligraphist while it takes from the feeble spellist his only safeguard, illegibility?

If you're holding a sapling in your hand when the Messiah arrives, first plant the sapling and then go out and greet the Messiah.

For there is hope of a tree, if it goes down, that it will sprout again, and that its tender branches will not cease. Though the root grows old in the earth, and the stock dies in the ground, at the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth boughs. But man, man wastes away and dies and gives up the ghost, and where is he?

But hope and truth do nothing for humans without use. In the clumpy, clumsy fingerpaint of words, she searches for the use of Old Tjikko, up on that barren crest, endlessly dying and resurrecting in every change of climate. His use is to show that the world is not made for our utility. What use are we to trees?

I remain one of those unreformable suckers who want to hear, just hear from time to time, even if the point of hearing has long since disappeared.

And the goal of the game will be to figure out what the new and desperate world wants from you.

Anyone who gets righteous...doesn't understand. Understand what? How hopelessly fragile and wrong we all are. About everything.

All that's left to sell up here is nostalgia, those recent yesterdays when tomorrow seemed the answer to everything a human might ever want.

But all of art is childish, all storytelling, all human hope and fear.

He covers his closed eyes with one hand and says, I'm sorry. No forgiveness comes, or ever will. But here's the thing about trees, the greatest thing: even when he can't see them, even when he can't get near, even when he can't remember how they go, he can climb, and they will hold him high above the ground and let him look out over the arc of the Earth.

The sunlight's blaze doesn't threaten the yellow of a flower. We only resent what we can still hope to be.

A woman of her skills! Just because she fucked up, does she think the world can't use her? we're down to gallons here. Hours and ounces. And she's going to roll over and die?

The blackest despair at the heart of them gets pressed to diamond.

Something in the lone survivor knows that even the ironclad law of Now can be outlasted.

I didn't know how to be a parent. Most of what I did, I remembered from what she used to do. I made enough mistakes on any one day to scar him for life. My only hope was that all the errors somehow canceled each other out.

She once told me that no matter how much bad stuff she had to deal with during the day, if she said those words before bed, she'd be ready for anything the next morning.

He stands near the planting, its black ring of soil like a promise at his feet.

Down another branch, this one, she shouts, "Here's to unsuicide," and flings the cup of swirling green over the gasping audience.

They tell her: Do not hope or despair or predict or be caught surprised. Never capitulate, but divide, multiply, transform, conjoin, do, and endure as you have all the long day of life.

They form in front of him: his friend, his wife, his daughter. People who loved him, who believed he'd do good things. In the mild April mist, he thinks: All I ever wanted was to make one slight noise that might delight you all. How small a thought it took. How small a thought.

But finally, the sunlight's blaze doesn't threaten the yellow of a flower. We only resent what we can still hope to be.