"There's a new and virulent cultural virus ripping through the world. . . . The symptoms of those infected include attacks of optimism, strong feelings of community, lower stress levels and outbreaks of pronoia - the sneaking feeling that someone is conspiring behind their backs to help them."

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Hope springs eternal in the human breast; Man never Is, but always To be Blest. The soul, uneasy, and confin'd from home, Rest and expatiates in a life to come. Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind; His soul proud Science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or milky way; Yet simple Nature to his hope has giv'n, Behind the cloud-topp'd hill, an humbler heav'n.

— Alexander Pope