It’s a verse by Corneille. A famous old Alexandrian, at the very end of the Cid, who says the heart, the hope and the triumph of time somewhere in Seville:
Hope in your courage, hope in my promise ...
And in this hemistiche all the bravery of the world rolls on for centuries, with so much consistency. So much patience passed to posterity, like a bequeathed secret, a more efficient mantra than the harsh laws of blood.
And the courage to go beyond the kingdoms, the solitudes, the exiles, the pains, the dawn and the disappearances. Our clocks strike the hour of courage, wrote Anna Akhmatova in the winter of 1942.