I heard a preacher say that hope is a revolutionary practice . . . hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up. . .
My heart leaps out of my mouth at the sound of the winds in the woods. I, whose life was but yesterday so desultory and shallow, suddenly recover my spirits, my spirituality, through my hearing... Ah! if I could so live that there would be no desultory moments ... I would walk, I would sit and sleep, with natural piety. What if I could pray aloud, or to myself, as I went along by the brookside, a cheerful prayer, like the birds! And then, to think of those I love, who will know that I love them, though I tell them not ... I thank you, God. I do not deserve anything ... and yet the world is gilded for my delight ... my path is strewn with flowers... O keep my senses pure!