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Discretion is the perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of life.

Walter Scott

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Walter Scott
Age: 61 †
Born: 1771
Born: August 15
Died: 1832
Died: September 21
Baronet Scott
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Edinburgh
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Walter Skott
Jedediah Cleishbotham
Laurence Templeton
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Sir Walter Scott
Sir Walter Scott
1st Baronet
Great Magician
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Reason
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Discretion
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Duty

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But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like again?
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Who, noteless as the race from which he sprung, Saved others' names, but left his own unsung.
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Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.
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To all, to each, a fair good-night, and pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.
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For Love will still be lord of all.
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The summer dawn's reflected hue To purple changed Lock Katrine blue, Mildly and soft the western breeze Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees, And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, Trembled but dimpled not for joy.
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Faces that have charmed us the most escape us the soonest.
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The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears. The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.
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I cannot tell how the truth may be I say the tale as it was said to me.
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He that climbs a ladder must begin at the first round.
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Covetousness bursts the sack and spills the grain.
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Ambition is no cure for love!
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When thinking about companions gone, we feel ourselves doubly alone.
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I will but confess the sins of my green cloak to my grey friar's frock, and all shall be well again.
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God in his goodness sent the grapes To cheer both great and small Little fools will drink too much And great fools none at all!
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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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The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have know a better day.
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Merrily, merrily goes the bark On a breeze from the northward free, So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the swan through the summer sea.
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But with morning cool repentance came.
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O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!
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