Hope, deceiving as it is, serves at least to lead us to the end of our lives by an agreeable route.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all.
Hope is like the sun, which, as we journey toward it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us.
Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for.
Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.