Some books are drenchèd sandsOn which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,Like a wrecked argosy. — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature. — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
In my garden I spend my days, in my library I spend my nights. My interests are divided between my geraniums and… — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
Seated in my library at night, and looking on the silent faces of my books, I am occasionally visited by a strange… — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
Eternity doth wear upon her face the veil of time. They only see the veil, and thus they know not what they stand so… — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
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… — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
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. — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October, when the trees are bare… — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
The globe has been circumnavigated, but no man ever yet has; you may survey a kingdom and note the result in maps, but all… — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
In winter, when the dismal rain Comes down in slanting lines, And Wind, that grand old harper, smote His thunder-harp of pines. — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
And in any case, to the old man, when the world becomes trite, the triteness arises not so much from a cessation as from… — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
In my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars. — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
The spot of ground on which a man has stood is forever interesting to him. — Alexander Smith Copy Share Image
