Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name? Helen Hunt Jackson More Quotes by Helen Hunt Jackson More Quotes From Helen Hunt Jackson When Time is spent, Eternity begins. Helen Hunt Jackson eternity 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 fire found brain 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. Helen Hunt Jackson being-thankful uncles writing 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. Helen Hunt Jackson growing-up strong children When love is at its best, one loves Helen Hunt Jackson forget love life One of Dr. Johnson's ingredients of happiness was, "A little less time than you want." That means always to have so many things you want to see, to have, and to do, that no day is quite long enough for all you think you would like to get done before you go to bed. Helen Hunt Jackson happiness mean thinking Motherhood is priced Of God, at price no man may dare To lessen or misunderstand. Helen Hunt Jackson mother-and-daughter mothers-day mom By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer. Helen Hunt Jackson cheer summer inspiring There is nothing so skillful in its own defense as imperious pride. Helen Hunt Jackson skillful defense pride Next time!' In what calendar are kept the records of those next times which never come? Helen Hunt Jackson calendars records promise O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind. Helen Hunt Jackson time morning sweet 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. Helen Hunt Jackson tasks each-day sun 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. Helen Hunt Jackson lost-love pain sleep The voice of one who goes before, to makeThe paths of June more beautiful, is thineSweet May! Helen Hunt Jackson voice june beautiful Still lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white; Helen Hunt Jackson new-year prayer lying I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod. Helen Hunt Jackson autumn land fall Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with one's self. Helen Hunt Jackson self 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. Helen Hunt Jackson vanity pride hurt 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. Helen Hunt Jackson vanity pride hurt 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. Helen Hunt Jackson now-and-then weapons faces
