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The upright, honest-hearted man Who strives to do the best he can, Need never fear the church's ban Or hell's damnation.
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
Hell
Strives
Church
Upright
Fear
Damnation
Best
Bans
Need
Strife
Needs
Hearted
Never
Strive
Men
Honest
More quotes by Robert Burns
Yon rosebuds in the morning-dew, how pure amang the leaves sae green!
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Life is but a day at most.
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I'll be merry and free, I'll be sad for nae-body If nae-body cares for me, I'll care for nae-body.
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Liberty's in every blow! Let us do or die.
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I'm truly sorry man's dominion has broken Nature's social union.
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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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Affliction's sons are brothers in distress A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!
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Dare to be honest and fear no labor.
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Learn taciturnity and let that be your motto!
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My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.
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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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The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that.
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An honest man here lies at rest, the friend of man the friend of truth the friend of age and guide of youth. Few hearts like his with virtue warmed, few heads with knowledge so informed. If there's another world, he lives in bliss. If there is none, he made the best of this.
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My dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
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Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise.
Robert Burns
Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining.
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I look on the opposite sex with something like the admiration with which I regard the starry sky on a frosty December night. I admire the beauty of the Creator's workmanship, I am charmed with the wild but graceful eccentricity of the motions, and then I wish both of them goodnight.
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Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
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How wretched is the person who hangs on by the favors of the powerful.
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Now Simmer blinks on flowery braes, And o'er the chrystal streamlets plays Come let us spend the lightsome days In the birks of Aberfeldy.
Robert Burns
