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.
pride
There had been no crises of incident, or marked movements of experience such as in Felipe's imaginations of love were essential to the fulness 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.
american-indian blindness california female-author helen-hunt-jackson history love-story native-american old-california ramona relationship tso-love
Stain my eyes as I may, on all sides all is black.
hurt pessimism sad sadness
Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name?
passion
The goldenrod is yellow,The corn is turning brown...The trees in apple orchardsWith fruit are bending down.
autumn fall
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.
rest tso-life
When Time is spent, Eternity begins.
thetimes time
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.
help
Motherhood is priced Of God, at price no man may dare To lessen or misunderstand.
man
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.
pain tso-love
Love has a tide!
tso-love
O month when they who love must love and wed.
When love is at its best, one loves so much that he cannot forget.
All lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love; No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love.
But great loves, to the last, have pulses red; All great loves that have ever died dropped dead.