Next time!" In what calendar are kept the records of those next times which never come?

— Helen Hunt Jackson

No past is dead for us but only sleeping love.

— Helen Hunt Jackson

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

O month when they who love must love and wed.

— Helen Hunt Jackson

O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.

— Helen Hunt Jackson

Stain my eyes as I may, on all sides all is black.

— Helen Hunt Jackson

The goldenrod is yellow, The corn is turning brown... The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down.

— Helen Hunt Jackson

There had been no crises of incident, or marked movements of experience such as in Felipe's imaginations of love were essential to the Furness 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.

— Helen Hunt Jackson

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

— Helen Hunt Jackson

We have flattered ourselves by inventing proverbs of comparison in matter of blindness,--"blind as a bat," for instance. It would be safe to say that there cannot be found in the animal kingdom a bat, or any other creature, so blind in its own range of circumstance and connection, as the greater majority of human beings are in the bosoms of their families. Tempers strain and recover, hearts break and heal, strength falters, fails, and comes near to giving way altogether, every day, without being noted by the closest lookers-on.

— Helen Hunt Jackson