Notable Quotes
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The only sure thing about luck is that it will change.

BRET HARTE, "The Outcasts of Poker Flat"

Of all words of tongue and pen,
The saddest are, "It might have been."

BRET HARTE, "Mrs. Jenkins"

Over the trackless past, somewhere,
Lie the lost days of our tropic youth,
Only regained by faith and prayer,
Only recalled by prayer and plaint,
Each lost day has its patron saint!

BRET HARTE, "The Lost Galleon"

When folks find I ain't afeard to speak my mind on their affairs, they kinder guess I'm tellin' the truth about my own.

BRET HARTE, "The Argonauts of North Liberty"

Virtue always meets reward, But quicker when it wears a sword.

BRET HARTE, "The Legends of the Rhine"

The delicate thought that cannot find expression,
For ruder speech too fair,
That, like thy petals, trembles in possession,
And scatters on the air.

BRET HARTE, "The Mountain Heart's Ease"

One big vice in a man is apt to keep out a great many smaller ones.

BRET HARTE, "Two Men of Sandy Bar"

For the glory born of Goodness
Never dies,
And its flag is not half-masted
In the skies.

BRET HARTE, "The Queen's Death"

Never a lip is curved with pain
That can't be kissed into smiles again.

BRET HARTE, "The Lost Galleon"

Perhaps there is no gift of nature that requires as little exertion on the part of the owner as personal beauty. I am not certain but that it is this very absence of effort which excites our admiration.

BRET HARTE, "On a Pretty Girl at the Opera"

Love differs from all the other contagious diseases: the last time a man is exposed to it, he takes it most readily, and has it the worst!

BRET HARTE, "Two Men of Sandy Bar"

The creator who could put a cancer in a believer's stomach is above being interfered with by prayers.

BRET HARTE, attributed, "Views of Religion"

Behind the curtain's mystic fold
The glowing future lies unrolled.

BRET HARTE, speech, Jan. 19, 1870

The gaunt limbs, and stark, rigid, death-like whiteness of winter.

BRET HARTE, "Views from a German Spion"

Past dreams of bliss our lives contain,
And slight the chords that still retain
A heart estranged to joys again,
To scenes by memory's silver chain
Close-linked, and ever yet apart,
That like the vine, whose tendrils young
Around some fostering branch have clung,
Grown with its growth, as tho' it sprung
From one united heart.

BRET HARTE, "The Homestead Barn"

Never a tear bedims the eye
That time and patience will not dry.

BRET HARTE, "The Lost Galleon"


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