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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.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Winter
Smote
Rain
Pines
Wind
Dismal
Lines
Harp
Comes
Harper
Harps
Thunder
Grand
Slanting

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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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There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.
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A poem round and perfect as a star.
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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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In life there is nothing more unexpected and surprising than the arrivals and departures of pleasure. If we find it in one place today, it is vain to seek it there tomorrow. You can not lay a trap for it.
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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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Not on the stage alone, in the world also, a man's real character comes out best in his asides.
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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.
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Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature.
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A man does not plant a tree for himself he plants it for posterity.
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We are never happy we can only remember that we were so once.
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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 bottomless pit of violence, a Tower of Babel where all are speakers and no hearers.
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