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I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Song
Would
Remembered
Victory
Singing
Rather

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Most brilliant star upon the crest of Time Is England. England!
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In my garden I spend my days in my library I spend my nights.
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In my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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The dead keep their secrets, and in a while we shall be as wise as they - and as taciturn.
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Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.
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Sweet April's tears, Dead on the hem of May.
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God has thickly strewn infinity with grandeur.
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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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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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Fame is but an inscription on a grave, and glory the melancholy blazon on a coffin lid.
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A man does not plant a tree for himself he plants it for posterity.
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The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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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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The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
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Everything is sweetened by risk.
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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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There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.
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The spot of ground on which a man has stood is forever interesting to him.
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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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