Quote

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.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Fair
Praise
Taste
Whichever
Action
Pudding
Happens
Wage
Reality
Suit
Certain
Suits
Work
Fairs

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If you wish to preserve your secret, wrap it up in frankness.
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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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The great man is the man who does a thing for the first time.
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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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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.
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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.
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A tender sadness drops upon my soul, like the soft twilight dropping on the world.
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My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
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Pride's chickens have bonny feathers, but they are an expensive brood to rear. They eat up everything, and are always lean when brought to market.
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There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.
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Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
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Winter does not work only on a broad scale he is careful in trifles.
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A bottomless pit of violence, a Tower of Babel where all are speakers and no hearers.
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The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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Seated in my library at night, and looking on the silent faces of my books, I am occasionally visited by a strange sense of the supernatural.
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In my garden I spend my days in my library I spend my nights.
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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The truly great rest in the knowledge of their own deserts, nor seek the conformation of the world.
Alexander Smith