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I have a hundred times wished that one could resign life as an officer resigns a commission.

Robert Burns

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Robert Burns
Age: 37 †
Born: 1759
Born: January 25
Died: 1796
Died: July 21
Farmer
Musicologist
Poet
Songwriter
Writer
Robbie Burns
Rabbie Burns
Scotland's favourite son
Ploughman Poet
Robden of Solway Firth
Bard of Ayrshire
The Bard
Robert Burns
Hundred
Times
Resigns
Life
Resign
Officer
Commission
Wished
Officers
Quitting

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Great for good, or great for evil.
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Look abroad through Nature's range, Nature's mighty law is change.
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Auld Nature swears the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, And then she made the lasses, O!
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That hour o' night's black arch the keystane.
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The great Creator to revere Must sure become the creature But still the preaching cant forbear, And ev'n the rigid feature: Yet ne'er with wits profane to range Be complaisance extendedAn atheist laugh's a poor exchange For deity offended.
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Oh would some power the gift give us, to see ourselves as others see us!
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Life is but a day at most.
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Firmness in enduring and exertion is a character I always wish to possess. I have always despised the whining yelp of complaint and cowardly resolve.
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Yon rosebuds in the morning-dew, how pure amang the leaves sae green!
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But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forever.
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There's some are fou o' love divine There's some are fou o' brandy.
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His locked, lettered, braw brass collar, Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.
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There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing.
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God help the teacher, if a man of sensibility and genius, when a booby father presents him with his booby son, and insists on lighting up the rays of science in a fellow's head whose skull is impervious and inaccessible by any other way than a positive fracture with a cudgel.
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O, my luve is like a red, red rose.
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Ye Hypocrites, are these your pranks To murder men and gie God thanks Desist for shame, proceed no further God won't accept your thanks for murder.
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Good Lord, what is man! for as simple he looks, Do but try to develop his books and his crooks, With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, All in all, he's a problem must puzzle the devil.
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Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise.
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Suspense is worst than disappointment.
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Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o'daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea.
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