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The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have know a better day.

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
Cold
Tresses
Better
Minstrels
Long
Withered
Way
Cheek
Cheeks
Gray
Seemed
Minstrel
Wind
Infirm

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Hurry no man's cattle you may come to own a donkey yourself
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A sinful heart makes feeble hand.
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I was not always a man of woe.
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The chain of friendship, however bright, does not stand the attrition of constant close contact.
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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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Fight on, brave knights! Man dies, but glory lives! Fight on death is better than defeat! Fight on brave knights! for bright eyes behold your deeds!
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I cannot tell how the truth may be I say the tale as it was said to me.
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Here eglantine embalm'd the air, Hawthorne and hazel mingled there The primrose pale, and violet flower, Found in each cliff a narrow bower Fox-glove and nightshade, side by side, Emblems of punishment and pride, Group'd their dark hues with every stain The weather-beaten crags retain.
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The race of mankind would perish did they cease to aid each other. We cannot exist without mutual help. All therefore that need aid have a right to ask it from their fellow-men and no one who has the power of granting can refuse it without guilt.
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Art thou a friend to Roderick?
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I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge are placed the milky mothers of the herd.
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come he slow or come he fast it is but death that comes at last
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Warriors! and where are warriors found, If not on martial Britain's ground? And who, when waked with note of fire, Love more than they the British lyre?
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It is only when I dally with what I am about, look back and aside, instead of keeping my eyes straight forward, that I feel these cold sinkings of the heart.
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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!
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Greatness of any kind has no greater foe than a habit of drinking.
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It is wonderful what strength of purpose and boldness and energy of will are roused by the assurance that we are doing our duty.
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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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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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The paths of virtue, though seldom those of worldly greatness, are always those of pleasantness and peace.
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