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“Every morning, I eat this dish called -hope-. Crumbs mostly, but without it, I'm not even human.' A long pause while her mind spun. 'But that's just it. There are no guarantees. Because if you can guarantee it, it's not hope.' [Joe] ... He [Pockets] adjusted his feet. 'I've been in some places where there is no hope, and yet somehow it swims through the cracks. Rises to the surface. I've found hope staring me in the face when reason screamed I had non. No matter what you do--ignore it, shove it in a closet, drown it with drink and pill, or stab it with science, experts, and talking heads--you can't kill hope. Not in all of human history has hope ever been laid to rest. When we breathe in, it's the stuff that expands our lungs. It's the reason we're not just dust.' She tried to laugh. 'I thought love did all that.' He sucked through his teeth. 'It's tough to tell those two apart, mum. But if you press me, love is what makes us who we are. Hope is how we express us. Hope is love with legs.” — Charles Martin