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It is a characteristic of pleasure that we can never recognize it to be pleasure till after it is gone.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Characteristics
Till
Recognize
Pleasure
Gone
Never
Characteristic

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A tender sadness drops upon my soul, like the soft twilight dropping on the world.
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Everything is sweetened by risk.
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It is the sternest philosophy, but on the whole the truest, that, in the wide arena of the world, failure and success are not accidents, as we so frequently suppose, but the strictest justice.
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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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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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Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature.
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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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Each time we love,We turn a nearer and a broader markTo that keen archer, Sorrow, and he strikes.
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One never hugs one's good luck so affectionately as when listening to the relation of some horrible misfortunes which has overtaken others.
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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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There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.
Alexander Smith
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In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October, when the trees are bare to the mild heavens, and the red leaves bestrew the road, and you can feel the breath of winter, morning and evening - no days so calm, so tenderly solemn, and with such a reverent meekness in the air.
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Some books are drenchèd sandsOn which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,Like a wrecked argosy.
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If a man is worth knowing at all, he is worth knowing well.
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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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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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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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Good-humor and, generosity carry day with the popular heart all the world over.
Alexander Smith
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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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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.
Alexander Smith