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.

Books are a finer world within the world.

Books are a finer world within the world.

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.

We twain have met like the ships upon the sea,
Who behold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet:
read more

We twain have met like the ships upon the sea,
Who behold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet:
One little hour! and then, away they speed
On lonely paths, through mist, and cloud, and foam,
To meet no more.

If you wish to preserve your secret wrap it up in frankness.

If you wish to preserve your secret wrap it up in frankness.