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The misery of keeping a dog is his dying so soon. But, to be sure, if he lived for fifty years and then died, what would become of me?
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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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
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Lived
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Years
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Died
More quotes by Walter Scott
Woman's faith and woman's trust, Write the characters in dust.
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Chess is a sad waste of brains.
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Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth.
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We do that in our zeal our calmer moment would be afraid to answer.
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Sordid selfishness doth contract and narrow our benevolence, and cause us, like serpents, to infold ourselves within ourselves, and to turn out our stings to the entire world besides.
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But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like again?
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Where is the coward that would not dare to fight for such a land as Scotland?
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Lambe them, lads! lambe them! a cant phrase of the time derived from the fate of Dr. Lambe, an astrologer and quack, who was knocked on the head by the rabble in Charles the First's time.
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Thou and I are but the blind instruments of some irresistible fatality, that hurries us along, like goodly vessels driving before the storm, which are dashed against each other, and so perish.
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come he slow or come he fast it is but death that comes at last
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He hath a share of man's intelligence, but no share of man's falsehood.
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Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand!
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As good play for nothing, you know, as work for nothing.
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Every hour has its end.
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A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year.
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The race of mankind would perish did they cease to aid each other. We cannot exist without mutual help. All therefore that need aid have a right to ask it from their fellow-men and no one who has the power of granting can refuse it without guilt.
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Adversity is, to me at least, a tonic and a bracer.
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You will, I trust, resemble a forest plant, which has indeed, by some accident, been brought up in the greenhouse, and thus rendered delicate and effeminate, but which regains its native firmness and tenacity, when exposed for a season to the winter air.
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Still are the thoughts to memory dear.
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Of all vices, drinking is the most incompatible with greatness.
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