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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
Somnambulus
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Sir Walter Scott
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Sir Walter Scott
Sir Walter Scott
1st Baronet
Great Magician
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More quotes by Walter Scott
For success, attitude is equally as important as ability.
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We shall never learn to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, unless we have taught ourselves to consider every thing as moonshine, compared with the education of the heart.
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Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain! Vain as the leaf upon the stream, And fickle as a changeful dream Fantastic as a woman's mood, And fierce as Frenzy's fever'd blood. Thou many-headed monster thing, Oh who would wish to be thy king!
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Hard toil can roughen form and face, And want call quench the eye's bright grace.
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We do that in our zeal our calmer moment would be afraid to answer.
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Many of our cares are but a morbid way of looking at our privileges
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Spangling the wave with lights as vain As pleasures in the vale of pain, That dazzle as they fade.
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Credit is like a looking-glass, which when once sullied by a breath, may be wiped clear again but if once cracked can never be repaired.
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He hath a share of man's intelligence, but no share of man's falsehood.
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Chess is a sad waste of brains.
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Adversity is, to me at least, a tonic and a bracer.
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Every hour has its end.
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Time rolls his ceaseless course.
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Ambition is no cure for love!
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Oh, on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes front clay, Be Thou, O Christ, the sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away.
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Hope is brightest when it dawns from fears.
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Guilt, though it may attain temporal splendor, can never confer real happiness the evil consequences of our crimes long survive their commission, and, like the ghosts of the murdered, forever haunt the steps of the malefactor while the paths of virtue, though seldom those of worldly greatness, are always those of pleasantness and peace.
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Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening.
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Where, where was Roderick then? One blast upon his bugle horn Were worth a thousand men.
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The schoolmaster is termed, classically, Ludi Magister, because he deprives boys of their play.
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