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Many miles away there's a shadow on the door of a cottage on the Shore of a dark Scottish lake.
Walter Scott
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Walter Scott
Age: 61 †
Born: 1771
Born: August 15
Died: 1832
Died: September 21
Baronet Scott
Biographer
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Literary Critic
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Edinburgh
Scotland
Walter Skott
Jedediah Cleishbotham
Laurence Templeton
Somnambulus
Malachi Malagrowther
Sir Walter Scott
Bart.
Sir Walter Scott
Sir Walter Scott
1st Baronet
Great Magician
The Great Unknown
Miles
Door
Cottage
Shadow
Cottages
Doors
Scottish
Dark
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Away
Lakes
Many
Shore
Adversity
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We often praise the evening clouds, And tints so gay and bold, But seldom think upon our God, Who tinged these clouds with gold.
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In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.
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But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like again?
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What can they see in the longest kingly line in Europe, save that it runs back to a successful soldier?
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The will to do, the soul to dare..
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Greatness of any kind has no greater foe than a habit of drinking.
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Although too much of a soldier among sovereigns, no one could claim with better right to be a sovereign among soldiers.
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Never was flattery lost on a poet's ear a simple race, they waste their toil for the vain tribute of a smile.
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True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven: It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes soon as granted fly It liveth not in fierce desire.
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In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed In war, he mounts the warrior's steed In halls, in gay attire is seen In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above For love is heaven, and heaven is love.
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There is a southern proverb - fine words butter no parsnips.
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There never will exist anything permanently noble and excellent in the character which is a stranger to resolute self-denial.
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O woman! in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!
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Chess is a sad waste of brains.
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Fair play is a jewel.
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The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows, Is like the dewdrop on the rose When next the summer breeze comes by And waves the bush, the flower is dry.
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