Quotes
Quotes about Hope
You cannot hope to build a better world without improving the individuals. To that end, each of us must work for our own improvement and, at the same time, share a general responsibility for all humanity, our particular duty being to aid those to whom we think we can be most useful.
What else remains for me? Youth, hope and love; To build a new life on a ruined life.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises; and oft it hits Where hope is coldest and despair most fits.
If you wish success in life, make perseverance your bosom friend, experience your wise counselor, caution your elder brother and hope your guardian genius.
He ploughs in sand, and sows against the wind, That hopes for constant love of woman kind.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead, In the glare of the truth at last.
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
We lean on Faith; and some less wise have cried, "Behold the butterfly, the see that's cast!" Vain hopes that fall like flowers before the blast! What man can look on Death unterrified?
O welcome pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope, Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings!
Yet I argue not Again Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of right or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward.
He who has faith has... an inward reservoir of courage, hope, confidence, calmness, and assuring trust that all will come out well - even though to the world it may appear to come out most badly.
I must end it. There's no hope left. I'll be at peace. No one had anything to do with this. My decision totally.
Let those deplore their doom, Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn: But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.
Stern fate and time Will have their victims; and the best die first, Leaving the bad still strong, though past their prime, To curse the hopeless world they ever curs'd Vaunting vile deeds, and vainest of the worst.
Hey you, don't tell me there's no hope at all Together we stand, divided we fall.
Hope is ambiguous, but fear is precise.
Every era has a currency that buys souls. In some the currency is pride, in others it is hope, in still others it is a holy cause. There are of course times when hard cash will buy souls, and the remarkable thing is that such times are marked by civility, tolerance, and the smooth working of everyday life.
The entire essence of America is the hope to first make moneyâthen make money with moneyâthen make lots of money with lots of money.
There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings.
Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
Flag of the free heart's hope and home! By angel hands to valour given, Thy stars have lit the welkin dome; And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Nay, do not think I flatter. For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast but thy good spirits To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flattered? No, let the candied tongue like absurd pomp, And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee Where thrift may follow fawning.
At early dawn when the air is crisp And you're standing knee deep in a beautiful rip You see a trout rise to an unknown fly Then your heart starts to thump and you wonder why You're a neophyte fly fisherman. You can measure the cast and study the lie Then lengthen the line to make your first try As you check the rod to get a good presentation You hold your breath in solemn anticipation You must be a fly fisherman! The fly floats gently on its way to the trout You know it will "take it" without a doubt. You're all charged up and ready to strike But the fly floats by because something's not right You are still a fly fisherman. You open your fly box and select a new fly Then lengthen the tippet before the next try Change your position to help with the cast And hope you have made the right decision at last Now you are a doubtful fly fisherman.
You wait a moment to settle your nerves Then make your cast with a right hand curve The fly settles down and the float looked good But the trout refused it and there you stood A dejected fly fisherman. You looked things over and were not yet beat Then changed flies again and were ready to repeat The next try was poor because you rushed the cast You hold your breath in solemn anticipation You must be a fly fisherman! The fly floats gently on its way to the trout You know it will "take it" without a doubt. You're all charged up and ready to strike But the fly floats by because something's not right You are still a fly fisherman. You open your fly box and select a new fly Then lengthen the tippet before the next try Change your position to help with the cast And hope you have made the right decision at last Now you are a doubtful fly fisherman.
Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
