Quote

There is a certain even-handed justice in Time and for what he takes away he gives us something in return. He robs us of elasticity of limb and spirit, and in its place he brings tranquility and repose—the mild autumnal weather of the soul.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Spirit
Weather
Elasticity
Place
Brings
Robs
Certain
Return
Limb
Soul
Gives
Mild
Giving
Takes
Repose
Even
Justice
Tranquility
Something
Age
Handed
Time
Away
Limbs
Autumnal

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My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
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The pleased sea on a white-breasted shore-- A shore that wears on her alluring brows Rare shells, far brought, the love-gifts of the sea, That blushed a tell-tale.
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The only thing a man knows is himself.
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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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In my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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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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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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Winter does not work only on a broad scale he is careful in trifles.
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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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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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Some books are drenchèd sandsOn which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,Like a wrecked argosy.
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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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We have two lives The soul of man is like the rolling world, One half in day, the other dipt in night The one has music and the flying cloud, The other, silence and the wakeful stars.
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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 tender sadness drops upon my soul, like the soft twilight dropping on the world.
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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)
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Every man's road in life is marked by the grave of his personal likings.
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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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