Alexander Smith's selected quotes:
Alexander Smith about Wish:
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If you wish to preserve your secret, wrap it up in frankness....
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Alexander Smith about Love:
We bury love, Forgetfulness grows over it like grass: That is a thing to weep for, ...
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Alexander Smith about Tree:
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A man doesn't plant a tree for himself. He plants it for posterity....
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Alexander Smith about Nature:
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Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well....
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Alexander Smith's Quotes
All quotes from Alexander Smith sorted alphabetically:
Alexander Smith about Tree:
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A man doesn't plant a tree for himself. He plants it for posterity.
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Alexander Smith about Man:
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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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Alexander Smith about Stars:
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A man gazing on the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.
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Alexander Smith about Nature:
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Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
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Alexander Smith about Life:
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Every man's road in life is marked by the graves of his personal liking.
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Alexander Smith about Gardening:
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How deeply seated in the human heart is the liking for gardens and gardening.
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Alexander Smith about Love:
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Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.
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Alexander Smith about Wise:
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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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Alexander Smith about Faith:
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The saddest thing that befalls a soul is when it loses faith in God and woman.
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Alexander Smith about Man:
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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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Alexander Smith about Thoughts:
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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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Alexander Smith about Difficult:
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There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.
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Alexander Smith about Present:
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To sit for one's portrait is like being present at one's own creation.
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Alexander Smith about Happy:
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We are never happy, we can only remember that we were so once.
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Alexander Smith about Love:
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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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