Quote

We twain have met like the ships upon the sea, Who behold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet: One little hour! and then, away they speed On lonely paths, through mist, and cloud, and foam, To meet no more.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Path
Speed
Foam
Hours
Mets
Converses
Upon
Lonely
Behold
Away
Hour
Mist
Littles
Sea
Paths
Little
Meet
Cloud
Like
Short
Ships
Twain
Sweet
Clouds
Converse

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Good-humor and, generosity carry day with the popular heart all the world over.
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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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In my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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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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A thought may be very commendable as a thought, but I value it chiefly as a window through which I can obtain insight on the thinker.
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An old novel has a history of its own.
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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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The globe has been circumnavigated, but no man ever yet has you may survey a kingdom and note the result in maps, but all the savants in the world could not produce a reliable map of the poorest human personality.
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How deeply seated in the human heart is the liking for gardens and gardening.
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If you wish to preserve your secret, wrap it up in frankness.
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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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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.
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God has thickly strewn infinity with grandeur.
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I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory.
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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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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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To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.
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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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