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The man who in this world can keep the whiteness of his soul is not likely to lose it in any other.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Soul
Men
World
Whiteness
Likely
Lose
Loses
Keep

More quotes by Alexander Smith

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If we were to live here always, with no other care than how to feed, clothe, and house ourselves, life would be a very sorry business. It is immeasurably heightened by the solemnity of death.
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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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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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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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A single soul is richer than all the worlds.
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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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There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.
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There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.
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Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)
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An old novel has a history of its own.
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Every day travels toward death the last only arrives at it.
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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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Most brilliant star upon the crest of Time Is England. England!
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Good-humor and, generosity carry day with the popular heart all the world over.
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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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I go into my library, and all history unrolls before me. I breathe the morning air of the world while the scent of Eden's roses yet lingered in it, while it vibrated only to the world's first brood of nightingales, and to the laugh of Eve. I see the pyramids building I hear the shoutings of the armies of Alexander.
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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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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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The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
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Each time we love,We turn a nearer and a broader markTo that keen archer, Sorrow, and he strikes.
Alexander Smith