Maxioms by Alexander Smith
Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in
the recognition.
Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in
the recognition.
We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not read more
We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
Every man's road in life is marked by the graves of his personal likings.
Every man's road in life is marked by the graves of his personal likings.
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.
To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.
