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A brave soul is a thing which all things serve.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Bravery
Serve
Brave
Soul
Thing
Things

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Sweet April's tears, Dead on the hem of May.
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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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We bury love Forgetfulness grows over it like grass: That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
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Pleasure has no logic it never treads in its own footsteps.
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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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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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Every day travels toward death the last only arrives at it.
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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 make a man look noble, your best course is to kill him. What superiority he may have inherited from his race, what superiority nature may have personally gifted him with, comes out in death.
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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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The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
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Winter does not work only on a broad scale he is careful in trifles.
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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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The man who in this world can keep the whiteness of his soul is not likely to lose it in any other.
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How beautiful the yesterday that stood Over me like a rainbow! I am alone, The past is past. I see the future stretch All dark and barren as a rainy sea.
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To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.
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Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
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Good-humor and, generosity carry day with the popular heart all the world over.
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Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)
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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.
Alexander Smith