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Commend me to sterling honesty though clad in rags.

Walter Scott

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Walter Scott
Age: 61 †
Born: 1771
Born: August 15
Died: 1832
Died: September 21
Baronet Scott
Biographer
Historian
Judge
Lawyer
Linguist
Literary Critic
Musicologist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Translator
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
The Great Unknown
Clad
Commend
Sterling
Rags
Honesty
Though

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O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!
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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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Sleep in peace, and wake in joy.
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What is a diary as a rule? A document useful to the person who keeps it. Dull to the contemporary who reads it and invaluable to the student, centuries afterwards, who treasures it.
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Success or failure in business is caused more by the mental attitude even than by mental capacities.
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Profan'd the God-given strength, and marr'd the lofty line.
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Art thou a friend to Roderick?
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Lightly from fair to fair he flew, And loved to plead, lament, and sue Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain, For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.
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Ridicule, the weapon of all others most feared by enthusiasts of every description, and which from its predominance over such minds, often checks what is absurd, and fully as often smothers that which is noble.
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O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood Land of the mountain and the flood!
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When true friends meet in adverse hour 'Tis like a sunbeam through a shower. A watery way an instant seen, The darkly closing clouds between.
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England was merry England, when Old Christmas brought his sports again. 'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year.
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It 's no fish ye 're buying, it 's men's lives.
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Saint George and the Dragon!-Bonny Saint George for Merry England!-The castle is won!
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There is a southern proverb - fine words butter no parsnips.
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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.
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For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.
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Fortune may raise up or abuse the ordinary mortal, but the sage and the soldier should have minds beyond her control.
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What can they see in the longest kingly line in Europe, save that it runs back to a successful soldier?
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Tell that to the marines - the sailors won't believe it.
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