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A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Mercy
Road
Wisdom
Stars
Science
Proverbially
Men
Puddles
Gazing
Idealism

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A brave soul is a thing which all things serve.
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The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
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Looking forward into an empty year strikes one with a certain awe, because one finds therein no recognition. The years behind have a friendly aspect, and they are warmed by the fires we have kindled, and all their echoes are the echoes of our own voices.
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My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
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Some books are drenchèd sandsOn which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,Like a wrecked argosy.
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Pleasure has no logic it never treads in its own footsteps.
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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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Yet through all, we know this tangled skein is in the hands of One, Who sees the end from the beginning: He shall unravel all.
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My friend is not perfect-no more than I am-and so we suit each other admirable.
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One never hugs one's good luck so affectionately as when listening to the relation of some horrible misfortunes which has overtaken others.
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Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
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A poem round and perfect as a star.
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In life there is nothing more unexpected and surprising than the arrivals and departures of pleasure. If we find it in one place today, it is vain to seek it there tomorrow. You can not lay a trap for it.
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If you wish to make a man look noble, your best course is to kill him. What superiority he may have inherited from his race, what superiority nature may have personally gifted him with, comes out in death.
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In my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature.
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Nature never quite goes along with us. She is somber at weddings, sunny at funerals, and she frowns on ninety-nine out of a hundred picnics.
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The world is not so much in need of new thoughts as that when thought grows old and worn with usage it should, like current coin, be called in, and, from the mint of genius, reissued fresh and new.
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Eternity doth wear upon her face the veil of time. They only see the veil, and thus they know not what they stand so near!
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There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.
Alexander Smith