History says, Don’t hope
On this side of the grave.
But then, once in a lifetime
The longed-for tidal wave
Of justice can rise up,
And hope and history rhyme.
Seamus Heaney, The Cure At Troy
There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Ana's that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. Anything can happen.
Raymond Chandler, Red Wind
Gloria said nothing, staring into the distance. Far down the shore on a point there were lights.
"That's Malibu," I said. "Where all the movie stars live."
"What are you going to do now?" she finally said.
"I don't know exactly. I thought I'd go see Mr Maxwell tomorrow. Maybe I could get him to do something. He certainly seemed interested."
"Always tomorrow," she said. "The big break is always tomorrow."
Horace McCoy, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?
There is now nothing inside the sanctuary. It is a vast, empty space that serves as a conduit for the presence of God, channeling his divine spirit from the heavens, flowing it out in concentric waves across the Temple's chambers, through the Court of Priests and the Court of Israelites, the Court of Women and the Court of Gentiles, over the Temple's porticoed walls down into the city of Jerusalem, across the Judean countryside to Samaria and Idumea, Peraea and Galilee, through the boundless empire of mighty Rome and on to the rest of the world, to all peoples and all nations, all of them -- Jew and gentile alike -- nourished and sustained by the spirit of the Lord of Creation, a spirit that has one sole source and no other: the inner sanctuary, the Holy of Holies, tucked within the Temple, in the sacred city of Jerusalem.
Reza Asla, Zealot