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Pleasure has no logic it never treads in its own footsteps.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Treads
Footsteps
Logic
Pleasure
Never

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In my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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Eternity doth wear upon her face the veil of time. They only see the veil, and thus they know not what they stand so near!
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Winter does not work only on a broad scale he is careful in trifles.
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I go into my library and all history unrolls before me.
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Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.
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A bottomless pit of violence, a Tower of Babel where all are speakers and no hearers.
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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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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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To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.
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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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Men praise poverty, as the African worships Mumbo Jumbo--from terror of the malign power, and a desire to propitiate at.
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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 have learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed, not the applauding thunder at its heels that men call fame.
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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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Sweet April's tears, Dead on the hem of May.
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To-day is always different from yesterday.
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Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
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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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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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The dead keep their secrets, and in a while we shall be as wise as they - and as taciturn.
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