Alexander Smith may refer to:
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.
In my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.
Every day travels toward death; the last only arrives at it.
If you wish to make a man look noble, your best course is to kill him. What superiority he may have inherited from his race, what superiority nature may have personally gifted him with, comes out in death.
We have two lives; The soul of man is like the rolling world, One half in day, the other dipt in night; The one has music and the flying cloud, The other, silence and the wakeful stars.
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.
It is not of so much consequence what you say, as how you say it. Memorable sentences are memorable on account of some single irradiating word.
Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
The pleased sea on a white-breasted shore-- A shore that wears on her alluring brows Rare shells, far brought, the love-gifts of the sea, That blushed a tell-tale.
Winter does not work only on a broad scale; he is careful in trifles.
If we were to live here always, with no other care than how to feed, clothe, and house ourselves, life would be a very sorry business. It is immeasurably heightened by the solemnity of death.
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
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.
A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.
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.
There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.
There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.
Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.
The greatness of an artist or a writer does not depend on what he has in common with other artists and writers, but on what he has peculiar to himself.
I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory.