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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

More quotes by Alexander Smith

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We twain have met like the ships upon the sea, Who behold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet: One little hour! and then, away they speed On lonely paths, through mist, and cloud, and foam, To meet no more.
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Most brilliant star upon the crest of Time Is England. England!
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Death, which we are accustomed to consider an evil, really acts for us the friendliest part, and takes away the commonplace of existence.
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Happiness never lays its finger on its pulse. If we attempt to steal a glimpse of its features it disappears.
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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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It is not of so much consequence what you say, as how you say it. Memorable sentences are memorable on account of some single irradiating word.
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My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
Alexander Smith
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It is the sternest philosophy, but on the whole the truest, that, in the wide arena of the world, failure and success are not accidents, as we so frequently suppose, but the strictest justice.
Alexander Smith
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I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory.
Alexander Smith
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To bring the best human qualities to anything like perfection, to fill them with the sweet juices of courtesy and charity, prosperity, or, at all events, a moderate amount of it, is required,--just as sunshine is needed for the ripening of peaches and apricots.
Alexander Smith
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The discovery of a grey hair when you are brushing out your whiskers of a morning - first fallen flake of the coming snows of age - is a disagreeable thing.
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Vanity in its idler moments is benevolent, is as willing to give pleasure as to take it, and accepts as sufficient reward for its services a kind word or an approving smile.
Alexander Smith
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Christmas is the day that holds all time together.
Alexander Smith
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A poem round and perfect as a star.
Alexander Smith
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To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.
Alexander Smith
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In winter, when the dismal rain Comes down in slanting lines, And Wind, that grand old harper, smote His thunder-harp of pines.
Alexander Smith
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The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
Alexander Smith
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How beautiful the yesterday that stood Over me like a rainbow! I am alone, The past is past. I see the future stretch All dark and barren as a rainy sea.
Alexander Smith
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Fame is but an inscription on a grave, and glory the melancholy blazon on a coffin lid.
Alexander Smith
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A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.
Alexander Smith