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Helen Hunt Jackson

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

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • Ramona
    • ()
  • 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 ...

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • Ramona
    • ()
  • Words are less needful to sorrow than to joy.

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • Ramona
    • ()
  • 'Next time!' In what calendar are kept the records of those next times which never come?

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • Ramona
    • ()
  • Love has a tide!

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "Tides," Poems ()
  • Degrees / Of dying they know not ... / All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "Dropped Dead," Poems ()
  • We sail, at sunrise, daily, 'outward bound.'

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "Outward Bound," Poems ()
  • Ah March! we know thou art / Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats, / And, out of sight, art nursing April's violets!

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "April," Poems ()
  • The voice of one who goes before to make / The paths of June more beautiful, is thine, / Sweet May!

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "May," Poems ()
  • Who longest waits of all most surely wins.

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "The Victory of Patience," Poems ()
  • Who waits until the wind shall silent keep, / Will never find the ready hour to sow.

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "Chance," Poems ()
  • The mighty are brought low by many a thing / Too small to name. Beneath the daisy's disk / Lies hid the pebble for the fatal sling.

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "Danger," Poems ()
  • Mistaken saints, who thought to save / Their souls, by making life a grave.

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "The Gift of Grapes," Poems ()
  • Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; / Each to his passion; what's in a name?

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "Vanity of Vanities," Poems ()
  • Oh, write of me, not 'Died in bitter pains,' / But 'Emigrated to another star!'

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "Emigravit," Poems ()
  • O suns and skies and clouds of June, / And flowers of June together, / Ye cannot rival for one hour / October's bright blue weather ... Love loveth best of all the year / October's bright blue weather.

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "October's Bright Blue Weather," Poems ()
  • My body, eh? Friend Death, how now? / Why all this tedious pomp of writ? / Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow / For half a century bit by bit.

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "Habeas Corpus," Poems ()
  • The woman who creates and sustains a home ... is a creator second only to God.

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • "Wanted: A Home," Bits of Talk About Home Matters ()
  • 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.

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • 1879, in Valerie Sherer Mathes, ed., The Indian Reform Letters of Helen Hunt Jackson, 1879-1885 ()
  • If I could write a story that would do for the Indian a thousandth part what Uncle Tom's Cabin did for the Negro, I would be thankful the rest of my life.

    • Helen Hunt Jackson,
    • 1883, in Valerie Sherer Mathes, ed., The Indian Reform Letters of Helen Hunt Jackson, 1879-1885 ()

Helen Hunt Jackson, U.S. writer, Indian rights worker

(1830 - 1885)

Full name: Helen Maria Fiske Hunt Jackson. She also write as Saxe Holme and as H.H.