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November's sky is chill and drear, November's leaf is red and sear.
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
Sears
Leafs
November
Leaf
Chill
Red
Sky
Sear
Drear
More quotes by Walter Scott
There never will exist anything permanently noble and excellent in the character which is a stranger to resolute self-denial.
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My foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor.
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Meat eaten without either mirth or music is ill of digestion.
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Discretion is the perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of life.
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He that follows the advice of reason has a mind that is elevated above the reach of injury that sits above the clouds, in a calm and quiet ether, and with a brave indifferency hears the rolling thunders grumble and burst under his feet.
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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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The playbill, which is said to have announced the tragedy of Hamlet, the character of the Prince of Denmark being left out.
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Silence, maiden thy tongue outruns thy discretion.
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The chain of friendship, however bright, does not stand the attrition of constant close contact.
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Dear to me is my bonnie white steed Oft has he helped me at pinch of need.
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Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances!
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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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come he slow or come he fast it is but death that comes at last
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What an ornament and safeguard is humor! Far better than wit for a poet and writer. It is a genius itself, and so defends from the insanities.
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Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die.
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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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What a strange scene if the surge of conversation could suddenly ebb like the tide, and show us the real state of people's minds.
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Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er.
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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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Affection can withstand very severe storms of vigor, but not a long polar frost of indifference.
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