Hope is like the sun. If you only believe in it when you can see it, you’ll never make it through the night.
It is strange to think I haven’t seen you since a month. I have seen the new moon, but not you. I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but nothing of your beautiful face. The pieces of my broken heart are so small that they could be passed through the eye of a needle. I miss you like the sun misses the flower; like the sun misses the flower in the depths of winter. Instead of beauty to direct its light to, the heart hardens like the frozen world your absence has banished me to. I’ll next compete in the city of Paris. I’ll find it empty and in the winter if you’re not there. Hope guides me. It is what gets me through the day and especially the night. The hope that after you are gone from my sight it will not be the last time I look upon you.[in a letter to Jocelyn]
It hurts doesn’t it? Your hopes dashed, your dreams down the toilet. And your fate is sitting right besides you.
I want to know what your hopes and your dreams are that got lost along the way when I was thinking about myself.[to Marilyn]
I find I’m so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it is the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.