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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
Hands
Ends
Skein
Unravel
Tangled
Karma
Sees
Beginning
Shall

More quotes by 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.
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Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
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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.
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We are never happy we can only remember that we were so once.
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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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The only thing a man knows is himself.
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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 saddest thing that befalls a soul is when it loses faith in god and woman.
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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.
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My friend is not perfect-no more than I am-and so we suit each other admirable.
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Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature.
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Everything is sweetened by risk.
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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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Men praise poverty, as the African worships Mumbo Jumbo--from terror of the malign power, and a desire to propitiate at.
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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.
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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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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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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.
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A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.
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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.
Alexander Smith