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Yet through all, we know this tangled skein is in the hands of One, Who sees the end from the beginning: He shall unravel all.

Alexander Smith

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Alexander Smith
Age: 36 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 31
Died: 1867
Died: January 5
Poet
Cille Mheàrnaig
Tangled
Karma
Sees
Beginning
Shall
Hands
Ends
Skein
Unravel

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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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Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
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Eternity doth wear upon her face the veil of time. They only see the veil, and thus they know not what they stand so near!
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Trifles make up the happiness or the misery of mortal life.
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Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
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If you wish to preserve your secret, wrap it up in frankness.
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Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature.
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It is a characteristic of pleasure that we can never recognize it to be pleasure till after it is gone.
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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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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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How beautiful the yesterday that stood Over me like a rainbow! I am alone, The past is past. I see the future stretch All dark and barren as a rainy sea.
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The sun was down, And all the west was paved with sullen fire. I cried, Behold! the barren beach of hell At ebb of tide.
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To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.
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The saddest thing that befalls a soul is when it loses faith in god and woman.
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There is a certain even-handed justice in Time and for what he takes away he gives us something in return. He robs us of elasticity of limb and spirit, and in its place he brings tranquility and repose—the mild autumnal weather of the soul.
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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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Winter does not work only on a broad scale he is careful in trifles.
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Pride's chickens have bonny feathers, but they are an expensive brood to rear. They eat up everything, and are always lean when brought to market.
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Each time we love,We turn a nearer and a broader markTo that keen archer, Sorrow, and he strikes.
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