Without something to believe in, life would be intolerable.

Belief here isn't a matter of doctrine so much as a kind of ballast. Life, the line suggests, is hard to bear when nothing stands behind our effort: no person, principle, faith, or purpose that makes the daily grind feel worth the trouble. The thought echoes existentialist writers and Viktor Frankl, who argued that people can endure remarkable hardship if they can find meaning in it, but struggle when meaning is absent. Pilcher's own fiction, rooted in family, home, nature, and continuity between generations, suggests she had that kind of quiet, ordinary conviction in mind rather than anything grand. I can't pin the line to a specific passage, so it's best treated as a general expression of her outlook.

In practice, this might mean someone going through a flat, aimless stretch asking what they actually care about and giving it a regular place in the week. They might commit to visiting an elderly neighbor every Sunday, coaching a youth football team, or tending a garden. The belief doesn't need to be large or certain. It only needs to be something they trust enough to organize a few hours around, because that small anchor can make the rest of life feel less heavy.