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Danh ngôn của Helen Hunt Jackson (Sứ mệnh: 9)

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
Love has a tide!
When love is at its best, one loves so much that he cannot forget.
O month when they who love must love and wed.
O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.
Words are less needful to sorrow than to joy.
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.
If I can do one hundredth part for the Indian that Mrs. Stowe did for the Negro, I will be thankful.
When Time is spent, Eternity begins.
Motherhood is priced Of God, at price no man may dare To lessen or misunderstand.
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.