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There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Time
World
Improve
Improvement
Doe
Nothing
Good

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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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We bury love Forgetfulness grows over it like grass: That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
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Christmas is the day that holds all time together.
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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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Every man's road in life is marked by the grave of his personal likings.
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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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A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.
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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 my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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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.
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There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.
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Sweet April's tears, Dead on the hem of May.
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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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I have learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed, not the applauding thunder at its heels that men call fame.
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A tender sadness drops upon my soul, like the soft twilight dropping on the world.
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A single soul is richer than all the worlds.
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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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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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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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Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
Alexander Smith