Quote

Seated in my library at night, and looking on the silent faces of my books, I am occasionally visited by a strange sense of the supernatural.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Faces
Supernatural
Sense
Occasionally
Night
Library
Book
Lovers
Silent
Strange
Books
Seated
Looking
Visited

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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 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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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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A man does not plant a tree for himself he plants it for posterity.
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Most brilliant star upon the crest of Time Is England. England!
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My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
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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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In my garden I spend my days in my library I spend my nights.
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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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Nature never quite goes along with us. She is somber at weddings, sunny at funerals, and she frowns on ninety-nine out of a hundred picnics.
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The discovery of a grey hair when you are brushing out your whiskers of a morning - first fallen flake of the coming snows of age - is a disagreeable thing.
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The truly great rest in the knowledge of their own deserts, nor seek the conformation of the world.
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Eternity doth wear upon her face the veil of time. They only see the veil, and thus they know not what they stand so near!
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My friend is not perfect-no more than I am-and so we suit each other admirable.
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A poem round and perfect as a star.
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Pride's chickens have bonny feathers, but they are an expensive brood to rear. They eat up everything, and are always lean when brought to market.
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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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Trees are your best antiques
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In my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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