Helen Hunt Jackson Famous Quotes
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Who longest waits most surely wins.
Who waits until the wind shall silent keep Will never find the ready hour to sow.
Ah, March! we know thou art Kind-hearted,
spite of ugly looks and threats,
And, out of sight, art nursing April's violets!
Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with one's self ...
There had been no crises of incident, or marked movements of experience such as in Felipe's imaginations of love were essential to the fulness of its growth. This is a common mistake on the part of those who have never felt love's true bonds. Once in those chains, one perceives that they are not of the sort full forged in a day. They are made as the great iron cables are made, on which bridges are swung across the widest water-channels,
not of single huge rods, or bars, which would be stronger, perhaps, to look at; but myriads of the finest wires, each one by itself so fine, so frail, it would barely hold a child's kite in the wind: by hundreds, hundreds of thousands of such, twisted, re-twisted together, are made the mighty cables, which do not any more swerve from their place in the air, under the weight and jar of the ceaseless traffic and tread of two cities, than the solid earth swerves under the same ceaseless weight and jar. Such cables do not break.
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; and so on till death.
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.
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.
Like a blind spinner in the sun,I tread my days:I know that all the threads will runAppointed ways.I know each day will bring its task,And being blind no more I ask.
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.
Will not the Senorita trust me?"
Ramona smiled faintly through her tears. "Yes," she said. "I will trust you. You are Alessandro, are you not?"
"Yes, Senorita," he answered, greatly surprised, "I am Alessandro.
When the baby dies, On every side Rose stranger's voices, hard and harsh and loud. The baby was not wrapped in any shroud. The mother made no sound. Her head was bowed That men's eyes might not see Her misery.
By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.
O month when they who love must love and wed.
Stain my eyes as I may, on all sides all is black.
Love has a tide!
I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
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.
There is nothing so skillful in its own defense as imperious pride.
On the king's gate the moss grew gray; The king came not. They call'd him dead; And made his eldest son, one day, Slave in his father's stead.
Great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.
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.
There was the whole world; if she loved him like this, nothing could make them wretched; his love would be enough for her, - and for him hers was an empire.
Still lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white;
And reigns the winter's pregnant silence still;
No sign of spring, save that the catkins fill,
And willow stems grow daily red and bright.
These are days when ancients held a rite
Of expiation for the old year's ill,
And prayer to purify the new year's will.
Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name?
The new is older than the old;
And newest friend is oldest friend in this:
That, waiting him, we longest grieved to miss
One thing we sought.
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.
When Time is spent, Eternity begins.
