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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
Upon
Lonely
Behold
Away
Hour
Mist
Littles
Sea
Paths
Little
Meet
Cloud
Like
Short
Ships
Twain
Sweet
Clouds
Converse
Path
Speed
Foam
Hours
Mets
Converses

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Happiness never lays its finger on its pulse. If we attempt to steal a glimpse of its features it disappears.
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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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In my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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The greatness of an artist or a writer does not depend on what he has in common with other artists and writers, but on what he has peculiar to himself.
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Each time we love,We turn a nearer and a broader markTo that keen archer, Sorrow, and he strikes.
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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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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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I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory.
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Winter does not work only on a broad scale he is careful in trifles.
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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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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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It is not of so much consequence what you say, as how you say it. Memorable sentences are memorable on account of some single irradiating word.
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Everything is sweetened by risk.
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Fine phrases I value more than bank-notes. I have ear for no other harmony than the harmony of words. To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.
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Thoughts must come naturally, like wild-flowers they cannot be forced in a hot-bed, even although aided by the leaf-mould of your past.
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Good-humor and, generosity carry day with the popular heart all the world over.
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In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October.
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Fame is but an inscription on a grave, and glory the melancholy blazon on a coffin lid.
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My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
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I go into my library and all history unrolls before me.
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