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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!

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
Hand
Filial
Hands
Strand
Country
Rugged
Strands
Mortal
Mortals
Sires
Band
Knits
Land
Untie

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Jock, when ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree it will be growing, Jock, when ye 're sleeping.
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Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.
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Never was flattery lost on a poet's ear a simple race, they waste their toil for the vain tribute of a smile.
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...crystal and hearts would lose all their merit in the world if it were not for their fragility.
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Those who are too idle to read, save for the purpose of amusement, may in these works acquire some acquaintance with history, which, however inaccurate, is better than none.
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Great talent has always a little madness mixed up with it.
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He who indulges his sense in any excesses renders himself obnoxious to his own reason and, to gratify the brute in him, displeases the man, and sets his two natures at variance.
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Look not thou on beauty's charming Sit thou still when kings are arming Taste not when the wine-cup glistens Speak not when the people listens
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Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening.
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Here is neither want of appetite nor mouths, Pray heaven we be not scant of meat or mirth.
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Ambition is no cure for love!
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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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One hour of life, crowded to the full with glorious action, and filled with noble risks, is worth whole years of those mean observances of paltry decorum, in which men steal through existence, like sluggish waters through a marsh, without either honor or observation.
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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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In listening mood she seemed to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand.
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Caution comes too late when we are in the midst of evils.
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Each must drain His share of pleasure, share of pain.
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As good play for nothing, you know, as work for nothing.
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Many a law, many a commandment have I broken, but my word never.
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