Alexander Smith Quotes
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It was his nature to blossom into song, as it is a tree's to leaf itself in April.
[Song]
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Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
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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.
[Forgiveness]
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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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The great man is the man who does a thing for the first time.
[Courage]
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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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The saddest thing that befalls a soul Is when it loses faith in God and woman.
[Faith]
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The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
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The world is not so much in need of new thoughts as that when thought grows old and worn with usage it should, like current coin, be called in, and, from the mint of genius, reissued fresh and new.
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There is a peculiar beauty about godly old age - the beauty of holiness. Husband and wife who have fought the world side by side, who have made common stock of joy or sorrow, and become aged together, are not unfrequently found curiously alike in personal appearance, in pitch and tone of voice, just as twin pebbles on the beach, exposed to the same tidal influences, are each other's alter ego.
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There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.
[Injury]
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There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.
[One Day]
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To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.
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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.
[Prosperity]
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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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Trees are your best antiques.
[Trees]
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Trifles make up the happiness or the misery of mortal life.
[Time]
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We are never happy; we can only remember that we were so once.
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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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Yet through all, we know this tangled skein is in the hands of One who sees the end from the beginning; he shall yet unravel all.
[Life]
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