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The sea complains upon a thousand shores.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Sea
Ocean
Thousand
Upon
Complains
Shores
Shore
Complaining

More quotes by Alexander Smith

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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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Some books are drenchèd sandsOn which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,Like a wrecked argosy.
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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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The greatness of an artist or a writer does not depend on what he has in common with other artists and writers, but on what he has peculiar to himself.
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The spot of ground on which a man has stood is forever interesting to him.
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The only thing a man knows is himself.
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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)
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In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October.
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If a man is worth knowing at all, he is worth knowing well.
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Christmas is the day that holds all time together.
Alexander Smith
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If we were to live here always, with no other care than how to feed, clothe, and house ourselves, life would be a very sorry business. It is immeasurably heightened by the solemnity of death.
Alexander Smith
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A man can bear a world's contempt when he has that within which says he's worthy. When he contemns himself, there burns the hell.
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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.
Alexander Smith
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Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
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We are never happy we can only remember that we were so once.
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An old novel has a history of its own.
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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.
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
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The sun was down, And all the west was paved with sullen fire. I cried, Behold! the barren beach of hell At ebb of tide.
Alexander Smith