My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.
Hope is a bad thing. It means that you are not what you want to be. It means that part of you is dead, if not all of you. It means that you entertain illusions. It's a sort of spiritual clap, I should say.
Welcome to the graveyard of ambition.
Every time my dreams threaten to become reality, something always happens and I end up alone.
And you dropt, lost, When something broke-- And let you from a Dream
Shattered dreams, worthless years, here I am encased in a hollow shell. Life began, then was done, now I stare into a cold and empty well.
But alas for the dreams that round us play! / For the plans of mortal making! / And alas for the false and fickle day / That looked so fair at waking!
I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
Nothing was easier to shatter than the fragile shield of an idealist.
It is when our budding hopes are nipped beyond recovery by some rough wind, that we are the most disposed to picture to ourselves what flowers they might have borne, if they had flourished . . .
Her glass wings are gone.
I came to the conclusion that unrealized hopes, even small ones, were always wrenching.
The fall from your dream into reality is especially hard when you've seen that you can fly.
