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Every man's road in life is marked by the grave of his personal likings.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Personal
Desire
Every
Men
Likings
Life
Marked
Grave
Graves
Road

More quotes by Alexander Smith

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Fame is but an inscription on a grave, and glory the melancholy blazon on a coffin lid.
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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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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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A single soul is richer than all the worlds.
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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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In my garden I spend my days, in my library I spend my nights. My interests are divided between my geraniums and my books. With the flower I am in the present with the book I am in the past.
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Christmas is the day that holds all time together.
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Trees are your best antiques
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Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.
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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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The saddest thing that befalls a soul is when it loses faith in god and woman.
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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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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.
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I go into my library, and all history unrolls before me. I breathe the morning air of the world while the scent of Eden's roses yet lingered in it, while it vibrated only to the world's first brood of nightingales, and to the laugh of Eve. I see the pyramids building I hear the shoutings of the armies of Alexander.
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The spot of ground on which a man has stood is forever interesting to him.
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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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We are never happy we can only remember that we were so once.
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My garden, with its silence and pulses of fragrance that come and go on the airy undulations, affects me like sweet music. Care stops at the gates, and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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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 heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
Alexander Smith