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

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It was woman that taught me cruelty, and on woman therefore I have exercised it.
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Woman's faith and woman's trust, Write the characters in dust.
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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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Literature is a great staff, but a very sorry crutch.
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Great talent has always a little madness mixed up with it.
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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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And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.
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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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The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows, Is like the dewdrop on the rose When next the summer breeze comes by And waves the bush, the flower is dry.
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Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above: For love is heaven, and heaven is love.
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To the timid and hesitating everything is impossible because it seems so.
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Without courage there cannot be truth, and without truth there can be no other virtue.
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For Love will still be lord of all.
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Spur not an unbroken horse put not your plowshare too deep into new land.
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Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land.
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My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, My gentle guide, in following thee.
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The schoolmaster is termed, classically, Ludi Magister, because he deprives boys of their play.
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Some touch of Nature's genial glow.
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I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!
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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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