Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest.

While there's life, there's hope.

Whether we be young or old, Our destiny, our being's heart and home, Is with infinitude, and only there; With hope it is, hope that can never die, Effort, and expectation, and desire, And something evermore about to be.

The sharp knife of dawn glitters in my hand but how bare is everything-tall tall tree infinite air, the unrelaxing tension of the world and only hope, hope only, the kind eagle soars and wheels in flight.

He who does not hope to win has already lost.

Hope is a waking dream.

Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.

Hope is a prodigal young heir, and Experience is his banker.

Hope is a strange invention- A Patent of the Heart- In unremitting action Yet never wearing out-.

The reason of idleness and of crime is the deferring of our hopes.