There is nothing like a dream to create the future.

In joined hands there is still some token of hope, in the clinched fist none.

The human soul has still greater need of the ideal than of the real. It is by the real that we exist, it is by the ideal that we live.

Should we continue to look upwards? Is the light we can see in the sky one of those which will presently be extinguished? The ideal is terrifying to behold... brilliant but threatened on all sides by the dark forces that surround it: nevertheless, no more in danger than a star in the jaws of the clouds.

In the chaos of sentiments and passions which defend a barricade, there is something of everything; there is bravery, youth, honor, enthusiasm, the ideal, conviction, the eager fury of the gamester, and above all, intervals of hope.

Hope in a child who has never known anything but despair is a sweet and touching thing.

Le ciel était absolument noir, il n'y avait plus d'étoiles, mais évidemment il en voyait une.

. . .where there is no more hope, song remains.

Hope is the Word which God has written on the brow of every man.