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The sun was down, And all the west was paved with sullen fire. I cried, Behold! the barren beach of hell At ebb of tide.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
West
Sullen
Sun
Barren
Hell
Tide
Fire
Behold
Tides
Sunset
Cried
Beach
Paved

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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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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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I go into my library and all history unrolls before me.
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The saddest thing that befalls a soul is when it loses faith in god and woman.
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God has thickly strewn infinity with grandeur.
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My garden, with its silence and pulses of fragrance that come and go on the airy undulations, affects me like sweet music. Care stops at the gates, and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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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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A man can bear a world's contempt when he has that within which says he's worthy. When he contemns himself, there burns the hell.
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There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.
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To-day is always different from yesterday.
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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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Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature.
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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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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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The spot of ground on which a man has stood is forever interesting to him.
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The great man is the man who does a thing for the first time.
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Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.
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Death, which we are accustomed to consider an evil, really acts for us the friendliest part, and takes away the commonplace of existence.
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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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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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