And they were writing scripts where Christine had hit the glass

The words of Sharon Gless, spoken of her beloved character Christine Cagney, rise like a song of defiance against the invisible chains that bind the spirit. “And they were writing scripts where Christine had hit the glass ceiling. And I always thought Christine would never hit the glass ceiling. I thought her dreams would take her. Maybe her dreams wouldn’t take her where she wanted, but she still had her dreams.” In these words, there echoes not merely the lament of an actress, but the cry of a soul that refuses to believe that the measure of a woman — or of any human being — is set by the limits others draw around her. The glass ceiling, unseen yet unyielding, is the barrier of expectation — that silent wall built by custom, fear, and the smallness of imagination.

In the world of men and women alike, there have always been those who said, “You may go this far, and no further.” They raise invisible fences around the possible, and call it realism. Yet Sharon Gless, speaking through Christine, proclaims that dreams are stronger than ceilings, for even when one’s wings are bruised by glass, they still beat against it with the rhythm of hope. The world may say, “She cannot rise higher,” but the dreamer’s heart whispers, “I was not made for ceilings; I was made for sky.” Even if she never reaches the summit she imagines, she remains rich — for she still has her dreams. And that possession, though intangible, is the true gold of the soul.

Throughout the ages, many have struck their heads against invisible barriers, unseen yet merciless. Think of Amelia Earhart, who flew not only through clouds but through centuries of doubt. The world told her that a woman could not master the heavens, and yet she soared, alone, into the wide blue silence. She did not conquer every storm, nor did her journey end in safety, but her courage reshaped the map of what others believed possible. Like Christine, her dreams carried her, even when destiny itself seemed to conspire against her. For the value of a life is not measured by its triumphs, but by its refusal to surrender its dream.

The glass ceiling is not only a structure of society — it lives also in the mind. It is built from fear, self-doubt, and the echo of voices that say, “You cannot.” Gless’s faith in Christine is the faith every person must learn to hold in themselves — that even if the world writes your script in chains, you may yet rewrite it in flight. She knew that dreams may not lead where one expects, but they lead somewhere, and that somewhere is better than standing still beneath ceilings crafted by others. For what is a life without longing, without reaching, without the holy ache of ambition? It is a silent prison, where the heart forgets it once had wings.

Let the story of Christine, then, be more than fiction — let it be a parable. When others tell you what you cannot be, remember that their ceilings are made of glass, not stone. They may shimmer with authority, but they are fragile against the hammer of persistence. Keep dreaming, even when the dream changes its shape; for dreams, like rivers, may twist and fall, yet always move toward the sea of fulfillment. The dreamer may not end where she imagined, but she will end where she was meant — in the realm of those who dared.

The lesson, my children, is this: Never surrender your dreams to the ceilings others build for you. Whether in art, in work, or in life, remember that your destiny is written not by their hands, but by your own heart. You may stumble, you may falter, and you may never reach the height you imagined — yet even in falling, you fly higher than those who never leapt. Keep your dream alive, even when it burns dim; tend it like a sacred flame, for it is the light by which your soul will find its way through the shadows.

And so, walk forward with courage. Let your dreams take you, as Gless believed Christine’s would — not necessarily where you want, but always where you must. For it is not the ceiling that defines you, but the sky you refuse to stop seeking. The world may forget the names of the cautious, but it will remember forever the ones who dared to dream past glass, and into eternity.