Quotes About Hope

When gloomy clouds across the sky Cast shadows o'er the land, Bright rays of hope illumine my path, For Jesus holds my hand.

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake I pray the Lord my soul to take

Oh, Charles!" Ma said. "What will we do?" Pa slumped down on a bench and said, "I don't know.

Oh, Pa, let's go on west!" "Mercy, Laura!" Ma said. "Whatever—" She could not go on. "I know, little Half-Pint," said Pa, and his voice was very kind. "You and I want to fly like the birds.

Suffering passes, while love is eternal. That's a gift that you have received from God…

Laura Ingalls Wilder

did hope that somehow Mary could go. "Oh, bother! I've miscounted

I hope," she said, "that you didn't stay out of some foolish romantical notion." He looked down, staring at the tumbled bedclothes. "Such as?" "Saving my life." He looked up again with a grimace. "Naturally not. I usually throw my houseguests off the cliff.

Reality revived. She frowned and gazed ahead, feeling numb still after all these months, yet unable to believe it was true, wanting to lift her face to the leaden clouds and shriek and scream that it wasn't, that it could not be, that she would not allow it. That so much love and life could not just… vanish, into nothing, as if it had never been. That they must be alive and snug and happy somewhere, waiting for her.

Thinking that you can't protect the ones you love, you have to hope they're smart enough to save themselves.

Propose a theory to explain one of there eternal mysteries: Mona Lisa's smile, crop circles, or Velveeta. Here is a theory of love: you find a sister, you gain a brother; you lose a sister, you lose a brother; you lose a cat, you find a girl, you kiss a girl, you find the cat, you hope that there is nothing left to lose, and all there is, is there to find.

Passenger to Frankfurt ends with an affirmation in 'hope', 'faith' and 'benevolence'. So Agatha would have been shocked and grieved by the twenty-first century. She would have mourned the town in which she had dreamed, loved, run up hills with Tony the dog, lost her virginity to Archie Christie, become a writer. Above all she would have been saddened by the new English joylessness, for life to her was a sacred gift.

I am sure there is more to know Something to love Something to dream of Something to make And with that you can walk You can walk in the wood In the cool of the eve And when God walks beside you You are not afraid

Expect the worst, because the worst is so often true, but have belief, have faith, have compassion.

To desperately hope, I whispered James let out a breath. To gratefully believe.

i felt my being flutter. each tousled head that came through the door i wanted to be his, but no and on, a dozen boys entered, yet not the one.

And I don't want to hurt anymore. I want to be someone who makes it through

So I leave proof of my existence behind me like a snail trail with the small hope that years of talking at me will someday soften her enough to talk with me, that she'll finally pull the knife from my chest and say yes, we are better off without him. That what happened wasn't my fault and from now on she will thrust herself between me and danger, and shout NO.

I know what it does to you, I know. Maybe that's why we hold on as hard as we do. We just can't believe that such a miracle can happen to us twice. But it can, someday you'll find it again.

Hope erodes slowly, over time, until you wake up one night at three o'clock in the morning and realize: I am not meant for that kind of thing.

He wanted me to be free of the past so I could be open to the future. So Alan named him after the white pines at Camp Fantastic. The tall, tall trees that had watched over Asher, and Eleanor, and everyone who had ever come here. The trees that framed a small beautiful world where joy transcended grief, and where the sounds of children, once alive, now gone, can still be heard.

Grief obliterates the present, forcing you to relive the past and dread the future.

Autumn, my favorite season, has always made me sad—the brightness of the sky and trees, the promise of hope and renewal always feels like a trick, an invitation for disappointment, instead of a gift.

Lauraine Snelling