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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
Leaf
Chill
Red
Sky
Sear
Drear
Sears
Leafs
November

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But with morning cool repentance came.
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Some touch of Nature's genial glow.
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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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In that pleasant district of merry England which is watered by the river Don, there extended in ancient times a large forest, covering the greater part of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and the pleasant town of Doncaster.
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As good play for nothing, you know, as work for nothing.
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Affection can withstand very severe storms of vigor, but not a long polar frost of indifference.
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It was in the beginning of the month of November, 17--, when a young English gentleman, who had just left the university of Oxford, made use of the liberty afforded him, to visit some parts of the north of England and curiosity extended his tour into the adjacent frontier of the sister country.
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My dear, be a good man be virtuous be religious be a good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie here. ...God bless you all.
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It is the privilege of tale-tellers to open their story in an inn, the free rendezvous of all travellers, and where the humour of each displays itself, without ceremony or restraint.
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For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.
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Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll, And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole, Yet 'tis Thy voice, my God, that bids them fly, Thy arm directs those lightnings through the sky. Then let the good Thy mighty name revere, And hardened sinners Thy just vengeance fear.
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See yonder rock from which the fountain gushes is it less compact of adamant, though waters flow from it? Firm hearts have moister eyes.
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Wounds sustained for the sake of conscience carry their own balsam with the blow.
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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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I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!
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God in his goodness sent the grapes To cheer both great and small Little fools will drink too much And great fools none at all!
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Fortune may raise up or abuse the ordinary mortal, but the sage and the soldier should have minds beyond her control.
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Methinks I will not die quite happy without having seen something of that Rome of which I have read so much.
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Saint George and the Dragon!-Bonny Saint George for Merry England!-The castle is won!
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Sleep in peace, and wake in joy.
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