Quotes by : Helen Hunt Jackson

Words are less needful to sorrow than to joy.

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

But undying memories stood like sentinels in her breast. When the notes of doves, calling to each other,....

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

Gazing around, looking up at the lofty pinnacles above, which seemed to pierce the sky, looking down....

If I can do one hundredth part for the Indian that Mrs. Stowe did for the Negro, I will be thankful.

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

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

The goldenrod is yellow,The corn is turning brown...The trees in apple orchardsWith fruit are bending....

Who longest waits most surely wins.