As soon as I began, it seemed impossible to write fast enough - I wrote faster than I would write a letter - two thousand to three thousand words in a morning, and I cannot help it.

— Helen Hunt Jackson

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

— Helen Hunt Jackson

But undying memories stood like sentinels in her breast. When the notes of doves, calling to each other, fell on her ear, her eyes sought the sky, and she heard a voice saying, "Mayella!

— Helen Hunt Jackson

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

— Helen Hunt Jackson

Gazing around, looking up at the lofty pinnacles above, which seemed to pierce the sky, looking down upon the world,--it seemed the whole world, so limitless it stretched away at her feet,--feeling that infinite unspeakable sense of nearness to Heaven, remoteness from earth which comes only on mountain heights, she drew in a long breath of delight, and cried: "At last! At last, Alessandro! Here we are safe! This is freedom! This is joy!

— Helen Hunt Jackson

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

— Helen Hunt Jackson

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

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

— Helen Hunt Jackson

Love has a tide!

— Helen Hunt Jackson

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

— Helen Hunt Jackson