Walter Scott Quotes
I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge are placed the milky mothers of the herd.
When a man has not a good reason for doing a thing, he has one good reason for letting it alone.
Earth walks on Earth, Glittering in gold; Earth goes to Earth, Sooner than it wold; Earth builds on Earth, Palaces and towers; Earth says to Earth, Soon, all shall be ours.
Warriors! and where are warriors found, If not on martial Britain's ground? And who, when waked with note of fire, Love more than they the British lyre?
When Israel, of the Lord belov'd, Out of the land of bondage came, Her fathers' God before her mov'd, An awful guide in smoke and flame.
Jock, when ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be growing, Jock, when ye 're sleeping.
It is a great disgrace to religion, to imagine that it is an enemy to mirth and cheerfulness, and a severe exacter of pensive looks and solemn faces.
Although too much of a soldier among sovereigns, no one could claim with better right to be a sovereign among soldiers.
The playbill, which is said to have announced the tragedy of Hamlet, the character of the Prince of Denmark being left out.
If a faultless poem could be produced, I am satisfied it would tire the critics themselves; and annoy the whole reading world with the spleen.
Methinks I will not die quite happy without having seen something of that Rome of which I have read so much.
Where, where was Roderick then? One blast upon his bugle horn Were worth a thousand men.
"Lambe them, lads! lambe them!" a cant phrase of the time derived from the fate of Dr. Lambe, an astrologer and quack, who was knocked on the head by the rabble in Charles the First's time.
He turn'd his charger as he spake, Upon the river shore, He gave his bridle reins a shake, Said, "Adieu for evermore, my love, And adieu for evermore."
Where lives the man that has not tried How mirth can into folly glide, And folly into sin!
Thus aged men, full loth and slow, The vanities of life forego, And count their youthful follies o'er, Till Memory lends her light no more.
Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel.
I will but confess the sins of my green cloak to my grey friar's frock, and all shall be well again.
'Tis an old tale, and often told; But did my fate and wish agree, Ne'er had been read, in story old, Of maiden true betray'd for gold, That loved, or was avenged, like me!
My dear, be a good man be virtuous be religious be a good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie here. ...God bless you all.
I'll dream no more--by mainly mind Not even in sleep is well resigned. My midnight orisons said o'er, I'll turn to rest and dream no more.
The most learned, acute, and diligent student cannot, in the longest life, obtain an entire knowledge of this one volume.
Here is neither want of appetite nor mouths, Pray heaven we be not scant of meat or mirth.
Honour is a homicide and a bloodspiller, that gangs about making frays in the street; but Credit is a decent honest man, that sits at hame and makes the pat play.
Teach self-denial and make its practice pleasure, and you can create for the world a destiny more sublime that ever issued from the brain of the wildest dreamer.
