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I have learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed, not the applauding thunder at its heels that men call fame.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Call
Thunder
Men
Lightning
Heels
Prize
Deeds
Fame
Quiet
Applauding
Learned
Deed

More quotes by Alexander Smith

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We are never happy we can only remember that we were so once.
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My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
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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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The only thing a man knows is himself.
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A tender sadness drops upon my soul, like the soft twilight dropping on the world.
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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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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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Christmas is the day that holds all time together.
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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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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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There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.
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Every day travels toward death the last only arrives at it.
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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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We bury love Forgetfulness grows over it like grass: That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
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God has thickly strewn infinity with grandeur.
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Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.
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Every man's road in life is marked by the grave of his personal likings.
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In life there is nothing more unexpected and surprising than the arrivals and departures of pleasure. If we find it in one place today, it is vain to seek it there tomorrow. You can not lay a trap for it.
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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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A bottomless pit of violence, a Tower of Babel where all are speakers and no hearers.
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