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The only thing a man knows is himself.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Thing
Men

More quotes by 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.
Alexander Smith
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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.
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.
Alexander Smith
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There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.
Alexander Smith
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A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.
Alexander Smith
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My friend is not perfect-no more than I am-and so we suit each other admirable.
Alexander Smith
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Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
Alexander Smith
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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.
Alexander Smith
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In my garden I spend my days in my library I spend my nights.
Alexander Smith
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Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.
Alexander Smith
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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.
Alexander Smith
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A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.
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.
Alexander Smith
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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
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Every man's road in life is marked by the grave of his personal likings.
Alexander Smith
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The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
Alexander Smith
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Sweet April's tears, Dead on the hem of May.
Alexander Smith
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A brave soul is a thing which all things serve.
Alexander Smith
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Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
Alexander Smith
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The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
Alexander Smith