Hope is a powerful thing. Some say it’s a different breed of magic altogether. Elusive, difficult to hold on to. But not much is needed.
Therefore he gives man hope, in reality it is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man.
A weird time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope. Falling into an interminable ennui. And meanwhile, the others are busy. They are not sitting helplessly waiting.
The whole world is now for me divided into two halves: one half is she, and there all is joy, hope, light: the other half is everything where she is not, and there is all gloom and darkness…[Весь мир разделен для меня на две половины: одна – она и там всё счастье, надежда, свет; другая половина – всё, где ее нет, там всё уныние и темнота…]
Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope.