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Every day travels toward death the last only arrives at it.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Toward
Lasts
Last
Death
Every
Time
Arrives
Travels

More quotes by Alexander Smith

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A thought may be very commendable as a thought, but I value it chiefly as a window through which I can obtain insight on the thinker.
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Pleasure has no logic it never treads in its own footsteps.
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I go into my library and all history unrolls before me.
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The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
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The spot of ground on which a man has stood is forever interesting to him.
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Looking forward into an empty year strikes one with a certain awe, because one finds therein no recognition. The years behind have a friendly aspect, and they are warmed by the fires we have kindled, and all their echoes are the echoes of our own voices.
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Vanity in its idler moments is benevolent, is as willing to give pleasure as to take it, and accepts as sufficient reward for its services a kind word or an approving smile.
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A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.
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If you do your fair day's work, you are certain to get your fair day's wage - in praise or pudding, whichever happens to suit your taste.
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If a man is worth knowing at all, he is worth knowing well.
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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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Everything is sweetened by risk.
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A poem round and perfect as a star.
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In my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
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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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The dead keep their secrets, and in a while we shall be as wise as they - and as taciturn.
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Happiness never lays its finger on its pulse. If we attempt to steal a glimpse of its features it disappears.
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Books are a finer world within the world. (1863)
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Winter does not work only on a broad scale he is careful in trifles.
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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