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A tender sadness drops upon my soul, like the soft twilight dropping on the world.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Twilight
Soft
Sadness
Upon
Soul
Like
Drops
World
Dropping
Tender

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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.
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A brave soul is a thing which all things serve.
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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 gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.
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My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
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Death, which we are accustomed to consider an evil, really acts for us the friendliest part, and takes away the commonplace of existence.
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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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Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature.
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Every day travels toward death the last only arrives at it.
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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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If you wish to preserve your secret, wrap it up in frankness.
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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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