3 December 2020 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.
3 December 2020 Helen Hunt Jackson 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.
3 December 2020 Helen Hunt Jackson When love is at its best, one loves so much that he cannot forget.
3 December 2020 Helen Hunt Jackson Motherhood is priced Of God, at price no man may dare To lessen or misunderstand.
3 December 2020 Helen Hunt Jackson O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.
3 December 2020 Helen Hunt Jackson By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer’s best of weather And autumn’s best of cheer.
3 December 2020 Helen Hunt Jackson If I can do one hundredth part for the Indian that Mrs. Stowe did for the Negro, I will be thankful.
