There's hope for everyone. That's what makes the world go round.

The words of Paul Auster, “There’s hope for everyone. That’s what makes the world go round,” rise like sunlight over the weary heart. In their simplicity lies a truth as ancient as breath itself — that hope is the pulse of existence, the unseen current that moves creation forward. Without it, the stars would hang cold in their heavens, and humanity would drift into despair. Auster, a man who wrote often of chance, loss, and redemption, understood that life’s fragile beauty is sustained not by certainty, but by the quiet insistence that tomorrow can still be better than today. His words are not naïve; they are an affirmation born of witnessing the world’s darkness and yet refusing to let it define the soul.

To say that “there’s hope for everyone” is to speak of the universal flame that burns in every being, no matter how dim or hidden it may seem. The ancients, too, knew this truth. They saw hope as sacred — a divine spark placed within mortals so that even when all else failed, the spirit would endure. The myth of Pandora’s box tells us that when all the evils of the world were unleashed, only Hope remained at the bottom, unbroken. Thus, even in suffering, mankind was never abandoned. Auster’s wisdom echoes that myth, reminding us that hope is not the denial of pain, but its antidote — the invisible force that keeps the world turning when logic says it should have stopped long ago.

Hope, in its truest form, is both humble and heroic. It belongs not to the comfortable, but to the broken. It thrives not in perfection, but in struggle. Think of Nelson Mandela, imprisoned for twenty-seven years, yet emerging with forgiveness rather than vengeance. When he said, “I never lost hope that this great transformation would occur,” he was not speaking of blind faith — he was speaking of the stubborn power of the human heart to believe, even when belief seems foolish. It was that same flame that kept his people alive and eventually transformed a nation. Auster’s words remind us that this same hope beats within us all — in the sinner and the saint, the strong and the fallen alike.

“There’s hope for everyone.” These words are also an act of defiance. For in a world quick to condemn, to divide, to discard, hope declares that no one is beyond redemption. It tells us that the addict can recover, the outcast can belong, the wounded can heal. Hope refuses to give up on humanity, even when humanity gives up on itself. To live by hope, therefore, is to refuse cynicism — to see the divine possibility in those whom the world has deemed lost. The ancients would call this agape, the great love that expects nothing in return, yet transforms all it touches.

But Auster’s second line — “That’s what makes the world go round” — adds a deeper layer. He reminds us that hope is not just an emotion; it is the engine of creation. Without hope, no one would plant a seed, write a book, or raise a child. Every act of progress — every poem, every invention, every revolution — begins as a gesture of hope. It is the unseen currency of life, flowing silently between hearts, connecting strangers through shared longing. Hope is the force that builds bridges where despair digs graves. When people say, “the world goes round,” they speak of the sun and the stars — but Auster tells us it is hope that truly spins the wheel of life.

Yet we must also understand that hope requires action. It is not the idle wish that something will change, but the will to change it. The ancients knew that even the smallest light must be tended lest it flicker out. So too must we nurture hope — in ourselves and in others. Speak kindness where cruelty reigns. Offer encouragement where shame has silenced. To give another hope is to lend them life, to remind them that their story is not yet over. In this, we become co-creators of the world’s renewal.

So, my listener, take this teaching to heart: hope is not a luxury, it is a duty. When you believe that there is hope for everyone, you honor the sacred in every soul. When you refuse to surrender to despair, you keep the world turning. And when you pass that hope to another — through word, through gesture, through compassion — you continue the ancient work of creation itself. For as Paul Auster reminds us, it is not power, not wealth, nor even knowledge that sustains the world — it is hope.

And so, live as one who guards the flame. Tend it in your heart when the night grows long, and share it freely when others falter. For the world spins not on its axis of stone and sky, but on the invisible axis of hope renewed each day — and in that sacred turning, we all find our reason to live.