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I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge are placed the milky mothers of the herd.

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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Lawyer
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Literary Critic
Musicologist
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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
The Great Unknown
Herd
Herds
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In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.
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One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name
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In love quarrels the party that loves the most is always most willing to acknowledge the greater fault.
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A thousand fearful images and dire suggestions glance along the mind when it is moody and discontented with itself. Command them to stand and show themselves, and you presently assert the power of reason over imagination.
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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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It 's no fish ye 're buying, it 's men's lives.
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A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass, Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argosy.
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Mellow nuts have the hardest rind.
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Cats are a mysterious kind of folk.
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What skilful limner e'er would choose To paint the rainbow's varying hues, Unless to mortal it were given To dip his brush in dyes of heaven?
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Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er.
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Well, then--our course is chosen--spread the sail-- Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings well-- Look to the helm, good master--many a shoal Marks this stern coast, and rocks, where sits the Siren Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin.
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Mankind — the race would perish did they cease to aid each other.
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I will but confess the sins of my green cloak to my grey friar's frock, and all shall be well again.
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To be ambitious of true honor, of the true glory and perfection of our natures, is the very principle and incentive of virtue.
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But with morning cool repentance came.
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If a faultless poem could be produced, I am satisfied it would tire the critics themselves and annoy the whole reading world with the spleen.
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Whose lenient sorrows find relief, whose joys are chastened by their grief.
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Steady of heart and stout of hand.
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Many miles away there's a shadow on the door of a cottage on the Shore of a dark Scottish lake.
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