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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
Men
Thing
More quotes by Alexander Smith
To bring the best human qualities to anything like perfection, to fill them with the sweet juices of courtesy and charity, prosperity, or, at all events, a moderate amount of it, is required,--just as sunshine is needed for the ripening of peaches and apricots.
Alexander Smith
A single soul is richer than all the worlds.
Alexander Smith
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.
Alexander Smith
Some books are drenchèd sandsOn which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,Like a wrecked argosy.
Alexander Smith
Everything is sweetened by risk.
Alexander Smith
A tender sadness drops upon my soul, like the soft twilight dropping on the world.
Alexander Smith
A man does not plant a tree for himself he plants it for posterity.
Alexander Smith
How deeply seated in the human heart is the liking for gardens and gardening.
Alexander Smith
My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
Alexander Smith
I have learned to prize the quiet, lightning deed, not the applauding thunder at its heels that men call fame.
Alexander Smith
Every day travels toward death the last only arrives at it.
Alexander Smith
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.
Alexander Smith
An old novel has a history of its own.
Alexander Smith
The globe has been circumnavigated, but no man ever yet has you may survey a kingdom and note the result in maps, but all the savants in the world could not produce a reliable map of the poorest human personality.
Alexander Smith
A brave soul is a thing which all things serve.
Alexander Smith
To-day is always different from yesterday.
Alexander Smith
A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.
Alexander Smith
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
Alexander Smith
Sweet April's tears, Dead on the hem of May.
Alexander Smith
Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature.
Alexander Smith