It is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.
Lord ByronRead
But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
Interpretation
Hope is a facade that can easily be stripped away to reveal the emptiness beneath.
In this quote, Lord Byron suggests that hope can be superficial, akin to makeup that conceals the true nature of existence. When confronted with reality, the allure of hope can fade, revealing a stark and perhaps disappointing truth about life and its challenges. This reflection compels one to consider the fragility of hope and the importance of recognizing the underlying realities that it often obscures.
In practice
During a talk about overcoming challenges, this quote can be used to illustrate the idea that hope may sometimes be merely an illusion.
It is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.
For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?
Absence - that common cure of love.
Her great merit is finding out mine; there is nothing so amiable as discernment.
But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.
When you say things like, 'We have to wipe out the Taliban,' what does that mean? The Taliban is not a fixed number of people. The Taliban is an ideology that has sprung out of a history that, you know, America created anyway.
Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? ...If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example?
After a cup of tea (two spoonsful for each cup, and don't let it stand more than three minutes,) it says to the brain, "Now, rise, and show your strength. Be eloquent, and deep, and tender; see, with a clear eye, into Nature and into life; spread your white wings of quivering thought, and soar, a god-like spirit, over the whirling world beneath you, up through long lanes of flaming stars to the gates of eternity!
The boy gathers materials for a temple, and then when he is thirty, concludes to build a woodshed.
This symmetrical composition--the same motif at the beginning and at the end--may seem quite "novelistic" to you, and I am willing to agree, but only on condition that you refrain from reading such notions as "fictive," "fabricated," and "untrue to life" into the word "novelistic." Because human lives are composed in precisely such a fashion.
We are all regionalists in our origins, however 'universal' our themes and characters, and without our cherished hometowns and childhood landscapes to nourish us, we would be like plants set in shallow soil. Our souls must take root - almost literally.
Subscribe for the occasional hand-picked quote. No noise.