In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul—and sings the tune without the words—and never stops at all.
You may not always have a comfortable life, and you may not always be able to solve all the world’s problems, but don’t ever underestimate the importance you can have, because history has shown us that courage can be contagious, and hope can take on a life of its own.
The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.
The hope, the hope that lives in the breast of the black American, is just so tremendous that it overwhelms me sometimes.
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