Quote

In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October, when the trees are bare to the mild heavens, and the red leaves bestrew the road, and you can feel the breath of winter, morning and evening - no days so calm, so tenderly solemn, and with such a reverent meekness in the air.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Fall
Road
Breath
Bare
Feel
Air
Breaths
Heavens
Feels
Fine
Evening
Solemn
Years
Tree
Red
Delightful
Reverent
Days
Leaves
Autumn
Tenderly
Morning
Winter
Circle
Meekness
Year
Calm
Circles
Mild
Heaven
Entire
Trees
October

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A tender sadness drops upon my soul, like the soft twilight dropping on the world.
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Trifles make up the happiness or the misery of mortal life.
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If you do your fair day's work, you are certain to get your fair day's wage - in praise or pudding, whichever happens to suit your taste.
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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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We have two lives The soul of man is like the rolling world, One half in day, the other dipt in night The one has music and the flying cloud, The other, silence and the wakeful stars.
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A man does not plant a tree for himself he plants it for posterity.
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Pleasure has no logic it never treads in its own footsteps.
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There is a certain even-handed justice in Time and for what he takes away he gives us something in return. He robs us of elasticity of limb and spirit, and in its place he brings tranquility and repose—the mild autumnal weather of the soul.
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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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Thoughts must come naturally, like wild-flowers they cannot be forced in a hot-bed, even although aided by the leaf-mould of your past.
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If the egotist is weak, his egotism is worthless. If the egotist is strong, acute, full of distinctive character, his egotism is precious, and remains a possession of the race.
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It is a characteristic of pleasure that we can never recognize it to be pleasure till after it is gone.
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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.
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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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Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.
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Most brilliant star upon the crest of Time Is England. England!
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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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Happiness never lays its finger on its pulse. If we attempt to steal a glimpse of its features it disappears.
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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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How deeply seated in the human heart is the liking for gardens and gardening.
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