Quote

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.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Interest
Interests
Night
Library
Past
Garden
Book
Flower
Spend
Present
Geraniums
Days
Nights
Books
Divided

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Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
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A thought may be very commendable as a thought, but I value it chiefly as a window through which I can obtain insight on the thinker.
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We have two lives The soul of man is like the rolling world, One half in day, the other dipt in night The one has music and the flying cloud, The other, silence and the wakeful stars.
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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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Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)
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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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Not on the stage alone, in the world also, a man's real character comes out best in his asides.
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How beautiful the yesterday that stood Over me like a rainbow! I am alone, The past is past. I see the future stretch All dark and barren as a rainy sea.
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A man can bear a world's contempt when he has that within which says he's worthy. When he contemns himself, there burns the hell.
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If you wish to preserve your secret, wrap it up in frankness.
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The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
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Everything is sweetened by risk.
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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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If you wish to make a man look noble, your best course is to kill him. What superiority he may have inherited from his race, what superiority nature may have personally gifted him with, comes out in death.
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The saddest thing that befalls a soul is when it loses faith in god and woman.
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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.
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A bottomless pit of violence, a Tower of Babel where all are speakers and no hearers.
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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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Pleasure has no logic it never treads in its own footsteps.
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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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