Quote

Men praise poverty, as the African worships Mumbo Jumbo--from terror of the malign power, and a desire to propitiate at.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Praise
Worship
Propitiate
Poverty
Mumbo
Desire
Malign
Power
Jumbo
Men
Worships
African
Terror

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Every day travels toward death the last only arrives at it.
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A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.
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How deeply seated in the human heart is the liking for gardens and gardening.
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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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My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
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The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
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Seated in my library at night, and looking on the silent faces of my books, I am occasionally visited by a strange sense of the supernatural.
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An old novel has a history of its own.
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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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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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We bury love Forgetfulness grows over it like grass: That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
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Trees are your best antiques
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Not on the stage alone, in the world also, a man's real character comes out best in his asides.
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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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Most brilliant star upon the crest of Time Is England. England!
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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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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.
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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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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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Christmas is the day that holds all time together.
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