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The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Mother
Night
Children
Pale
Leading
Evening
Child

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A tender sadness drops upon my soul, like the soft twilight dropping on the world.
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There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.
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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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Trees are your best antiques
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The spot of ground on which a man has stood is forever interesting to him.
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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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God has thickly strewn infinity with grandeur.
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There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.
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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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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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Vanity in its idler moments is benevolent, is as willing to give pleasure as to take it, and accepts as sufficient reward for its services a kind word or an approving smile.
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In my garden I spend my days in my library I spend my nights.
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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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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 dead keep their secrets, and in a while we shall be as wise as they - and as taciturn.
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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 friend is not perfect-no more than I am-and so we suit each other admirable.
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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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Everything is sweetened by risk.
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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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