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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

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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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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.
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I go into my library and all history unrolls before me.
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Trees are your best antiques
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One never hugs one's good luck so affectionately as when listening to the relation of some horrible misfortunes which has overtaken others.
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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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Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)
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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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Good-humor and, generosity carry day with the popular heart all the world over.
Alexander Smith
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Vanity in its idler moments is benevolent, is as willing to give pleasure as to take it, and accepts as sufficient reward for its services a kind word or an approving smile.
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A single soul is richer than all the worlds.
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The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
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My friend is not perfect-no more than I am-and so we suit each other admirable.
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Everything is sweetened by risk.
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Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
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A tender sadness drops upon my soul, like the soft twilight dropping on the world.
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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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Some books are drenchèd sandsOn which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,Like a wrecked argosy.
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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.
Alexander Smith
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A poem round and perfect as a star.
Alexander Smith