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A man does not plant a tree for himself he plants it for posterity.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Posterity
Plants
Plant
Tree
Environment
Doe
Men

More quotes by Alexander Smith

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We bury love Forgetfulness grows over it like grass: That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
Alexander Smith
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It is a characteristic of pleasure that we can never recognize it to be pleasure till after it is gone.
Alexander Smith
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Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)
Alexander Smith
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Good-humor and, generosity carry day with the popular heart all the world over.
Alexander Smith
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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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The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
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It is the sternest philosophy, but on the whole the truest, that, in the wide arena of the world, failure and success are not accidents, as we so frequently suppose, but the strictest justice.
Alexander Smith
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The saddest thing that befalls a soul is when it loses faith in god and woman.
Alexander Smith
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I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory.
Alexander Smith
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In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October.
Alexander Smith
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Winter does not work only on a broad scale he is careful in trifles.
Alexander Smith
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Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
Alexander Smith
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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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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We are never happy we can only remember that we were so once.
Alexander Smith
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Some books are drenchèd sandsOn which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,Like a wrecked argosy.
Alexander Smith
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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!
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.
Alexander Smith
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Sweet April's tears, Dead on the hem of May.
Alexander Smith
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Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.
Alexander Smith