They reach the realms of tranquil bliss. Green spaces folded in with trees,
A paradise of pleasances.

Forest is and was and will be. Root and roof and all between. Pan-fruit feed me, nid-bough hold me, Peace and Joy be ever green.

All theory is gray, my friend. But forever green is the tree of life.

Hope is a passion for the possible.

Beyond are greens where pink chestnuts, may trees and copper beeches flaunt themselves gaily.

Hope is itself a species of happiness, and perhaps, the chief happiness which this world affords.

I'm in love with hope.

There was no shame, but only graciousness, sun-soaked air, and, at the last, a peace such as the moss knows in the deepening corridors of trees.

Much of happiness is hope,

It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.

We have nothing to fear and a great deal to learn from trees, that vigorours and pacific tribe which without stint produces strengthening essences for us, soothing balms, and in whose gracious company we spend so many cool, silent, and intimate hours.

The new earth will be like Eden. ..the deserts will gush with water. … A beautiful and bountiful land will flourish.

Spring drew on...and a greenness grew over those brown beds, which, freshening daily, suggested the thought that Hope traversed them at night, and left each morning brighter traces of her steps.

When we plant trees, we plant the seeds of peace and hope.