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One or two of these scoundrel statesmen should be shot once a-year, just to keep the others on their good behavior.
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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Walter Skott
Jedediah Cleishbotham
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Sir Walter Scott
Sir Walter Scott
1st Baronet
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In the name of God! said Gurth, how came they prisoners? and to whom? Our master was too ready to fight, said the Jester, and Athelstane was not ready enough, and no other person was ready at all.
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Welcome as the flowers in May.
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Where lives the man that has not tried How mirth can into folly glide, And folly into sin!
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Ambition is no cure for love!
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I envy thee not thy faith, which is ever in thy mouth but never in thy heart nor in thy practice
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In that pleasant district of merry England which is watered by the river Don, there extended in ancient times a large forest, covering the greater part of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and the pleasant town of Doncaster.
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Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.
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Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle your horses, and call up your men Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!
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That day of wrath, that dreadful day. When heaven and earth shall pass away.
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Threatened folk live long.
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If a farmer fills his barn with grain, he gets mice. If he leaves it empty, he gets actors.
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Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung.
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A good deal of philanthropy arises in general from mere vanity and love of distinction gilded over to others and to themselves with some show of benevolent sentiment.
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Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll, And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole, Yet 'tis Thy voice, my God, that bids them fly, Thy arm directs those lightnings through the sky. Then let the good Thy mighty name revere, And hardened sinners Thy just vengeance fear.
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The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed!
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As good play for nothing, you know, as work for nothing.
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Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.
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No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal woe.
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Fair play is a jewel.
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He that follows the advice of reason has a mind that is elevated above the reach of injury that sits above the clouds, in a calm and quiet ether, and with a brave indifferency hears the rolling thunders grumble and burst under his feet.
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