When the seasons shift, even the subtle beginning, the scent of a promised change, I feel something stir inside me. Hopefulness? Gratitude? Openness? Whatever it is, it's welcome.
“A quote is the essence of a story. We all need stories to convey ideas, justice, anger, humanity, hope, laughter, learning, and whatever makes us understand or feel understood”
“You have got to hold on; you have got to carry on; black skies shall clear, tribulations shall become hope, just by dancing to your favorite tune.”
“Hope is not about proving anything. It's about choosing to believe this one thing, that love is bigger than any grim, bleak shit anyone can throw at us.”
“I wrapped the unyielding woman I loved in my arms & kissed her slowly, hoping that some part of her would sense my absolute devotion." #Ren”
I hope that wherever else I have failed, whatever harm I have caused to strangers and friends, that you may speak for me. Not before a pulpit or upon a stage. Not with words great or loud. But only to be, to persist, to live a life with pride and worth. In twenty years’ time, thirty, or forty I hope that you may sit upon the porch of your home, look out upon a greening field that you have tilled, see your children surrounding you with love, and think for a moment upon me. That is all now that I truly wish for. To be for a moment in your thoughts, when I have long passed from this earth, and perhaps in a way I may find my redemption, an earthly redemption, not everlasting, but scared nonetheless.
These dreams are disappearingSpeak and be misunderstood Or be silent and goodand as how far as it lookThese dreams are disappearing..Put hopes in a box and tieIt's either protect it or dieMaintain the truth or talk a lieThese dreams are disappearing..Mountains of gold and a lovely cata house by a lake and a lovely chata day in paradise and all of thatThese dreams are disappearing..Chase a purpose of life and doand be the one you wanted toand be with who have always wanted youThese dreams are disappearing..Run in pace and catch the sunRaise a family and have a sonBuild a home, not only oneThese dreams are disappearing..In daily wars like on regular basesIn daily problems a puzzled mazes In daily issues and complications These dreams are disappearing..Nothing is lost but nothing is healingAll is gone and all is leakingSome hope to hold on to and keep dreamingAlthough these dreams are disappearing...Ahmed Adel Hassona
In my own life, as winters turn into spring, I find it not only hard to cope with mud but also hard to credit the small harbingers of larger life to come, hard to hope until the outcome is secure. Spring teaches me to look more carefully for the green stems of possibility; for the intuitive hunch that may turn into a larger insight, for the glance or touch that may thaw a frozen relationship, for the stranger's act of kindness that makes the world seem hospitable again.
We’d all lost ourselves and found something far more significant together. We reached with gaping wounds for a healing we desired so badly, like a blind man picturing the world around him—the lively children skipping rope, green grass, blue sky. It’s like that man standing in his vision, rising from the park bench, arms outstretched, taking the first steps into a world he only hopes exists.
From the vantage of a mid-1970's consensus that regarded the United States as having entered a post-Protestant era, the rise of a Religious Right dominated not only by Protestants but by fundamentalists was not the way the story was supposed to go. People like Jerry Falwell looked like party crashers who, rather than slikinking from bar to buffet in hopes of going unnoticed, demanded that the vegetarian, alcohol-imbibing hosts serve meat and tell the bartender to go home.