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The great man is the man who does a thing for the first time.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Firsts
First
Great
Thing
Men
Time
Doe

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Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)
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Most brilliant star upon the crest of Time Is England. England!
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A brave soul is a thing which all things serve.
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There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.
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We are never happy we can only remember that we were so once.
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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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In my garden I spend my days in my library I spend my nights.
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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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If we were to live here always, with no other care than how to feed, clothe, and house ourselves, life would be a very sorry business. It is immeasurably heightened by the solemnity of death.
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If the egotist is weak, his egotism is worthless. If the egotist is strong, acute, full of distinctive character, his egotism is precious, and remains a possession of the race.
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Fine phrases I value more than bank-notes. I have ear for no other harmony than the harmony of words. To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.
Alexander Smith
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In winter, when the dismal rain Comes down in slanting lines, And Wind, that grand old harper, smote His thunder-harp of pines.
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God has thickly strewn infinity with grandeur.
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My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
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Men praise poverty, as the African worships Mumbo Jumbo--from terror of the malign power, and a desire to propitiate at.
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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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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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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.
Alexander Smith
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Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
Alexander Smith