Kristin Hannah The Four Winds Quotes

A warrior believes in an end she can’t see and fights for it. A warrior never gives up. A warrior fights for those weaker than herself. It sounds like motherhood to me.

Courage is fear you ignore.

It wasn’t the fear that mattered in life. It was the choices made when you were afraid. You were brave because of your fear, not in spite of it.

Love is what remains when everything else is gone.

Books had always been her solace; novels gave her the space to be bold, brave, beautiful, if only in her own imagination.

Don't worry about dying, Elsa. Worry about not living. Be brave." - Grandpa Wolcott

You are of me, Loreda, in a way that can never be broken. You taught me love. You, first in the whole world, and my love for you will outlive me.

I am in awe of her fire. Even if I'm the one she sets on fire.

You are of me, Loreda, in a way that can never be broken. Not by words or anger or actions or time. I love you. I will always love you.

I say folks who hang on to the past miss their chance for a future.

Apparently you couldn’t stop loving some people, or needing their love, even when you knew better.

Elsa knew that a library card—a thing they’d taken for granted all of their lives—meant there was still a future.

That was the first time her grandfather had leaned down and whispered, Be brave, into her ear. And then, Or pretend to be. It’s all the same.

my love for you will outlive me.

There was a pain that came with constant disapproval; a sense of having lost something unnamed, unknown. Elsa had survived it by being quiet, by not demanding or seeking attention, by accepting that she was loved, but unliked.

Although she hadn’t seen her parents for years, it turned out that a parent’s disapproval was a powerful, lingering voice that shaped and defined one’s self-image.

Passion is a thunderstorm, there and gone. It nourishes, si, but it drowns, too.

We draw our strength from the very despair in which we have been forced to live. We shall endure. —CÉSAR CHÁVEZ

The four winds have blown us here, people from all across the country, to the very end of this great land. And now, at last, we make our stand, fight for what we know to be right. We fight for our American dream, that it will be possible again.

As we know, there are lessons to be learned from history. Hope to be derived from hardships faced before. We've gone through bad times before and survived, even thrived. History has shown us the strength and durability of the human spirit, In the end, it is our idealism and our courage and our commitment to one another--what we have in common--that will save us.

Love. In the best of times, it is a dream. In the worst of times, a salvation.

Jean reached over for Elsa’s hand and held it. Elsa hadn’t known until right then how much difference a friend could make. How one person could lift your spirit just enough to keep you upright.

Fear is smart until…” He headed for the door, paused as he reached for the knob. “Until what?” He looked back at her. “Until you realize you’re afraid of the wrong thing.

We draw our strength from the very despair in which we have been forced to live. We shall endure.

Heartache had been a part of her life so long it had become as familiar as the color of her hair or the slight curve in her spine. Sometimes it was the lens through which she viewed her world and sometimes it was the blindfold she wore so she didn't see. But it was always there. (p117)

There was something she hadn't known when she went into marriage and became a mother that she knew now: it was only possible to live without love when you'd never known it.

The things your parents say and the things your husband doesn’t say become a mirror, don’t they? You see yourself as they see you, and no matter how far you come, you bring that mirror with you.

When times is tough and jobs is scarce, folks blame the outsider. It’s human nature.

Maybe that's how God provides. He put me in your path and you in mine.

Some lives are not ours to hold on to; God makes His choices without us.

Poverty was a soul-crushing thing. A cave that tightened around you, its pinprick of light closing a little more at the end of each desperate, unchanged day.

In the mirror, she’d seen more than her face. She’d seen the girl she’d been before all of this. A dreamer, a believer. Someone who would go places. How had she forgotten all of that?

She'd learned how to disappear in place long ago. She was like one of those animals whose defense mechanism is to blend into the landscape and become invisible. It was her way of dealing with rejection: Say nothing and disappear. Never fight back. If she remained quiet enough, people eventually forgot she was there and left her alone.

Elsa said, "You saved me, you know." "Mothers and daughters. We save each other, si?

To damage the earth is to damage your children. —WENDELL BERRY, FARMER AND POET

Remember, cara, hard times don’t last. Land and family do.

it was only possible to live without love when you'd never known it.

She had counted on a lifetime to teach her children what they needed to know, but she didn't have the gift of grace and time. Still, she had given them what mattered: they were loved and they knew it. Everything else was decoration. Love remains.

The library. Books held the answer to every question.

The love, it comes in the beginning of her life and at the end of yours. God is cruel that way.

Elsa hadn’t known until right then how much difference a friend could make. How one person could lift your spirit just enough to keep you upright.

How can we call ourselves the land of the free when people are living on the streets and dying of hunger?

courage was a lie. It was just fear that you ignored.

provide enough for those who have too little. —FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT

Hope is a coin I carry; an American penny, given to me by a man I came to love. There were times in my journey when it and the hope it represented were the only things that kept me going.

It’s not weak, you know. To feel things deeply, to want things. To need.

No sorries. We fought, we struggled, we hurt each other, so what? That’s what love is, I think. It’s all of it. Tears, anger, joy, struggle. Mostly, it’s durable. It lasts.

We fought, we struggled, we hurt each other, so what? That’s what love is, I think. It’s all of it. Tears, anger, joy, struggle. Mostly, it’s durable. It lasts.

But she wasn’t an I. She was a we. Her two beautiful children were counting on her, even if Loreda didn’t know it yet.

Don't worry about dying, Elsa. Worry about not living. Be brave.

The children's lives would never be the same after today. Their opinions of everything would change, but especially their opinions of themselves, of the durability of love and the truth of their family. They would know forever that their father hadn't loved their mother--or them--enough to stay with them through hard times.

The four winds have blown us here, people from all across the country, to the very edge of this great land, and now, at last, we make our stand, fight for what we know to be right. We fight for our American dream, that it will be possible again.

Ah, Elsa. You got a wrong picture of yourself. Even if that is true, what does a person do about it? The things your parents say and the things your husband doesn't say become a mirror, don't they? You see yourself as they see you. and no mater how far you come, you bring that mirror with you. Break it, Jean said. How? With a gosh dang rock. Jean leaned forward. I'm a mirror too, Elsa. You remember that.

I don’t have a good history with men.” “You know the thing about history, Elsa? It’s over. Already dead and gone.” “They say people who don’t heed history are doomed to repeat it.

she knew what it was like to come here looking for better and be treated as worse

The idea of it, of staying here and finding a good life and a place to belong, seduced her as nothing ever had.

You blame yourself when they are the ones to blame.” Rose gave her a steady, reassuring look. “Remember, cara, hard times don’t last. Land and family do.

wasn’t the fear that mattered in life. It was the choices made when you were afraid. You were brave because of your fear, not in spite of it.

They’d had no choice but to fall into the cycle the growers wanted them in: living on credit, building up debt, and never making enough, even with relief, to break out.

There was a pain that came with constant disapproval; a sense of having lost something unnamed, unknown.

Love is what remains when everything else is gone. This is what I should have told my children when we left Texas. What I will tell them tonight. Not that they will understand yet. How could they? I am forty years old, and I just learned this fundamental truth myself. Love. In the best of times, it is a dream. In the worst of times, a salvation. I am in love. There it is. I've written it down. Soon I will say it out loud. To him. I am in love. As crazy and ridiculous and implausible as it sounds, I am in love. And I am loved in return. And this-love-gives me the courage I need for today. The four winds have blown us here, people from all across the country, to the very edge of this great land, and now, at last, we make our stand, fight for what we know to be right. We fight for our American dream, that it will be possible again. Jack says that I am a warrior and, while I don't believe it, I know this: A warrior believes in an end she can't see and fights for it. A warrior never gives up. A warrior fights for those weaker than herself. It sounds like motherhood to me.

This is how my love for her goes on: in moments remembered and moments imagined. It’s how I keep her alive. Hers is the voice in my head, my conscience. I see the world, at least in part, through her eyes. Her story—which is the story of a time and land and the indomitable will of a people—is my story; two lives woven together, and like any good story, ours will begin and end and begin again. Love is what remains.

That’s what love is, I think. It’s all of it. Tears, anger, joy, struggle. Mostly, it’s durable. It lasts.

A rebel instead of a dreamer. Daddy had given Loreda words; it was actions that mattered. She knew that now. Leaving. Staying. Fighting. Or walking away.

From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs,

When a man resorts to violence, he’s scared,” Jack said. “That’s a good sign.

My grandfather was a Texas Ranger. He used to tell me that courage was a lie. It was just fear that you ignored.

You are of me, Loreda, in a way that can never be broken. Not by words or anger or actions or time. I love you.

The sight of them helping others when they themselves had lost everything made her proud.

I love you. I’m proud of you. I’ve never seen anyone so brave. Why was I so mean for so long? You gave me wings, Mom. Did you know that? I feel you here. Will I always?

Think about the women who fought for the vote. They had to be scared, too, but they marched for change, even if it meant going to jail. And now we can vote. Sometimes the end is worth any sacrifice.

Elsa felt a deeply rooted shame in her daughter’s rejection. In her hurt, she did what she’d always done: she disappeared. But all the while, she waited, prayed, that both her husband and her daughter would someday see how much she loved them and they would love her in return. Until then, she dared not push too hard or demand too much.

She had counted on a lifetime to teach her children what they needed to know, but she didn’t have that gift of grace and time. Still, she had given them what mattered: they were loved and they knew it. Everything else was decoration.

What do I do without you?” Elsa tried to smile but couldn’t. She was too tired. Too weak. “You live, Loreda,” she whispered. “And know … every single second … how much I loved you.” Find your voice and use it … take chances … never give up.

Beneath the shoes lay Loreda’s brand-new library card and The Hidden Staircase. Loreda looked up. “You went back? In the rain?” “Mrs. Quisdorf picked that book out for you. That card, though, that’s the real gift. It can take you anywhere, Loreda.

Love is what remains when everything else is gone. This is what I should have told my children when we left Texas. What I will tell them tonight. Not that they will understand yet. How could they? I am forty years old, and I only just learned this fundamental truth myself. Love. In the best of times, it is a dream. In the worst of times, a salvation.

Even if they didn’t speak of their love, or share their feelings in long, heartfelt conversations, the bond was there. Sturdy.

A warrior believes in an end she can’t see and fights for it.

Rose, who spoke for the first time about her own lost children, had showed Elsa that grief could be borne one day, one chore, at a time.

One thing was left, as clear and perfect as a drop of rain—the desperate need to stand together … They would rise and fall and, in their falling, rise again.

Time heals all wounds, people told her, underscoring its essential kindness. She knew in fact that some wounds deepened over time instead of lessened;

Loreda didn't want the kind of love that trapped. She wanted to be told she could fly high, be anything and go anywhere.

What in the world was more restorative than a child’s love?

There was something she hadn’t known when she went into marriage and became a mother that she knew now: it was only possible to live without love when you’d never known it.

When Elsa had lost her third child—a son who never drew breath—it was Rose who held Elsa and let her cry, and said, Some lives are not ours to hold on to; God makes His choices without us.

History has shown us the strength and durability of the human spirit, In the end, it is our idealism and our courage and our commitment to one another--what we have in common--that will save us.

A year ago, Elsa would have thought it insane that any woman would think to walk from Oklahoma or Texas or Alabama to California, especially pushing a baby carriage. Now she knew better. When your children were dying, you did anything to save them, even walk over mountains and across deserts.

know how much it hurts right now, Elsa. You can’t unlove someone even if you want to, even if he breaks your heart. I understand not wanting to wake up. Lord, with this life of ours, who could blame you. But your daughter needs you, especially now. She is as foolish as her father. Ant worries me,

But for now, I am an explorer again, made bold by hardship and strengthened by loss, going west in search of something that exists only in my imagination. A life different than one I’ve known before.

She worked like a dog to support us, doing whatever she had to do, but each night, at bedtime, she kissed me good night and told me I could be anything in America. It was the dream that had brought her here and she passed it on to me. But, it was a lie. For people like us, anyway. Folks who are from the wrong place, or have the wrong color skin, or speak the wrong language, or pray to the wrong God.

She knew it was wrong to be angry with her mother now - the weather wasn't her fault - but Loreda couldn't help herself. She was mad at the world, and somehow that meant shew as mad at her mom most of all.

In her hurt, she did what she’d always done: she disappeared. But all the while, she waited, prayed, that both her husband and her daughter would someday see how much she loved them and they would love her in return.

I see one-third of a nation ill-housed, ill-clad, ill-nourished.… The test of our progress is not whether we add more to the abundance of those who have much; it is whether we provide enough for those who have too little. —FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT

We’ve gone through bad times before and survived, even thrived. History has shown us the strength and durability of the human spirit. In the end, it is our idealism and our courage and our commitment to one another—what we have in common—that will save us.

One thing was left, as clear and perfect as a drop of rain—the desperate need to stand together … They would rise and fall and, in their falling, rise again. —SANORA BABB, WHOSE NAMES ARE UNKNOWN TWENTY-FOUR On the last day of January, a cold front moved into the valley

The four winds have blown us here, people from all across the country, to the very edge of this great land, and now, at last, we make our stand, fight for what we know to be right. We fight for our American dream, that it will be possible again. Jack says that I am a warrior and, while I don’t believe it, I know this: A warrior believes in an end she can’t see and fights for it. A warrior never gives up. A warrior fights for those weaker than herself. It sounds like motherhood to me.

Three years ago, I began writing this novel about hard times in America: the worst environmental disaster in our history; the collapse of the economy; the effect of massive unemployment. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that the Great Depression would become so relevant in our modern lives, that I would see so many people out of work, in need, frightened for the future.

Ah, Elsa. You got a wrong picture of yourself." "Even if that is true, what does a person do about it? The things your parents say and the things your husband doesn't say become a mirror, don't they? You see yourself as they see you, and no mater how far you come, you bring that mirror with you." "Break it", Jean said. "How?" "With a gosh dang rock." Jean leaned forward. "I'm a mirror too, Elsa. You remember that.

courage. If I have even a sliver of it, I will be lucky. Be brave. It was the last thing she said to me in this world, and I wish I’d told her that her courage would always guide me. In my dreams, I say, I love you, I tell her every day how she shaped me, how she taught me to stand up and find my woman’s voice, even in this man’s world. This is how my love for her goes on: in moments remembered and moments imagined. It’s how I keep her alive. Hers is the voice in my head, my conscience. I see the world, at least in part, through her eyes. Her story—which is the story of a time and land and the indomitable

It is a single perfect memory. A goodbye that gives me peace and courage. Her courage. If I ever have a sliver of it, I will be lucky. Be brave. It was the last thing she said to me in this world, and I wish I'd told her that her courage would always guide me. In my dreams, I say I love you. I tell her every day how she shaped me, how she taught me to stand up and find my woman's voice, even in this man's world. This is how my love for her goes on: in moments remembered and moments imagined. It's how I keep her alive. Hers is the voice in my conscience. I see the world, at least in part, through her eyes. Her story- which is the story of a time and land and the indomitable will of a people- is my story; two lives woven together, and like any good story, ours will begin and end and being again. Love is what remains.