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In my garden I spend my days in my library I spend my nights.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Library
Lovers
Garden
Spend
Days
Night
Book
Nights

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Trees are your best antiques
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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory.
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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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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 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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The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
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It is the sternest philosophy, but on the whole the truest, that, in the wide arena of the world, failure and success are not accidents, as we so frequently suppose, but the strictest justice.
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To bring the best human qualities to anything like perfection, to fill them with the sweet juices of courtesy and charity, prosperity, or, at all events, a moderate amount of it, is required,--just as sunshine is needed for the ripening of peaches and apricots.
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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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Trifles make up the happiness or the misery of mortal life.
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A man does not plant a tree for himself he plants it for posterity.
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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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I have learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed, not the applauding thunder at its heels that men call fame.
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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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Fame is but an inscription on a grave, and glory the melancholy blazon on a coffin lid.
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In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October.
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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 a man is worth knowing at all, he is worth knowing well.
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The spot of ground on which a man has stood is forever interesting to him.
Alexander Smith