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When matters are desperate we must put on a desperate face.

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
Must
Desperate
Matters
Face
Faces
Matter

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Learn taciturnity and let that be your motto!
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Life is but a day at most.
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Their sighing, canting, grace-proud faces, their three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces.
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There's some are fou o' love divine There's some are fou o' brandy.
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The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley, And leave us nought but grief and pain, For promised joy.
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Gin a body meet a body Coming thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body— Need a body cry?
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Inspiring bold JohnBarleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!
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Mankind is a science that defies definitions.
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My heart is sair-I dare na tell, My heart is sair for Somebody.
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Suspense is worse than disappointment.
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The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.
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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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Never generally means at no point in time. The term comes from the words 'no' and 'ever', meaning that something is not ever going to happen. Sourced
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Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, And o'er the crystal streamlet plays.
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O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I!
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God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be.
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Once upon a Lammas Night When corn rigs are bonny, Beneath the Moon's unclouded light, I held awhile to Annie... The time went by with careless heed Between the late and early, With small persuasion she agreed To see me through the barley... Corn rigs and barley rigs, Corn rigs are bonny! I'll not forget that happy night Among the rigs with Annie!
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All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn.
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Here's to us, who's like us Damn few, and they're all dead.
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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.
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