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Where shall the lover rest, Whom the fates sever From his true maiden's breast, Parted for ever? Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die, Under the willow.
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
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Walter Skott
Jedediah Cleishbotham
Laurence Templeton
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Sir Walter Scott
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Sir Walter Scott
Sir Walter Scott
1st Baronet
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More quotes by Walter Scott
Come forth, old man,--thy daughter's side Is now the fitting place for thee: When time has quell'd the oak's bold pride, The youthful tendril yet may hide, The ruins of the parent tree.
Walter Scott
Every hour has its end.
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Caution comes too late when we are in the midst of evils.
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My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, My gentle guide, in following thee.
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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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I was born a Scotsman and a bare one. Therefore I was born to fight my way in the world.
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I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge are placed the milky mothers of the herd.
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Oh, poverty parts good company.
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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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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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Love will subsist on wonderfully little hope but not altogether without it.
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High minds, of native pride and force, Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse Fear, for their scourge, means villains have, Thou art the torturer of the brave!
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It is more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle.
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Unless a tree has borne blossoms in spring, you will vainly look for fruit on it in autumn.
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My dear, be a good man be virtuous be religious be a good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie here. ...God bless you all.
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Cats are a very mysterious kind of folk. There is always more passing in their minds than we are aware of.
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Adversity is, to me at least, a tonic and a bracer.
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It is the privilege of tale-tellers to open their story in an inn, the free rendezvous of all travellers, and where the humour of each displays itself, without ceremony or restraint.
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Like the dew on the mountain, like the foam on the river, like the bubble on the fountain, thou art gone, and for ever!
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I'll dream no more--by mainly mind Not even in sleep is well resigned. My midnight orisons said o'er, I'll turn to rest and dream no more.
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