Helen Hunt Jackson Quotes

I shall be found with 'Indians' engraved on my brain when I am dead. A fire has been kindled within me, which will never go out.

Wounded vanity knows when it is mortally hurt; and limps off the field, piteous, all disguises thrown away. But pride carries its banner to the last; and fast as it is driven from one field unfurls it in another, never admitting that there is a shade less honor in the second field than in the first, or in the third than in the second.

The woman who creates and sustains a home, and under whose hands children grow up to be strong and pure men and women, is a creator second only to God.

O bees, sweet bees!" I said; "that nearest field Is shining white with fragrant immortelles Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells.

There is nothing so skillful in its own defense as imperious pride.

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.

When Time is spent, Eternity begins.

If I could write a story that would do for the Indian one-hundredth part what 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' did for the Negro, I would be thankful the rest of my life.

Who longest wait of all surely wins.

That indescribable expression peculiar to people who hope they have not been asleep, but know they have.

There cannot be found in the animal kingdom a bat, or any other creature, so blind in its own range of circumstance and connection, as the greater majority of human beings are in the bosoms of their families

Stain my eyes as I may, on all sides all is black.

Who longest waits most surely wins.

Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with one's self.

Next time!' In what calendar are kept the records of those next times which never come?

Who waits until the wind shall silent keep Will never find the ready hour to sow.

But all lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love; No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love; The years of Heaven with all earth's little pain Make Good Together there we can begin again, In babyhood.

O month when they who love must love and wed.

Wounded vanity knows when it is mortally hurt; and limps off the field, piteous, all disguises thrown away. But pride carries its banner to the last.

The wild mustard in Southern California is like that spoken of in the New Testament. . . . Its gold is as distinct a value to the eye as the nugget gold is in the pocket.

Now and then one sees a face which has kept its smile pure and undefiled. Such a smile transfigures; such a smile, if the artful but know it, is the greatest weapon a face can have.

For April sobs while these are so glad April weeps while these are so gay,- Weeps like a tired child who had, Playing with flowers, lost its way.

Great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.

Motherhood is priced Of God, at price no man may dare To lessen or misunderstand.

O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.

The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown, The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down.

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name?

Most men call fretting a minor fault, a foible, and not a vice. There is no vice except drunkenness which can so utterly destroy the peace, the happiness of a hoe.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.