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We often praise the evening clouds, And tints so gay and bold, But seldom think upon our God, Who tinged these clouds with gold.

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
Gay
Clouds
Praise
Gold
Tints
Upon
Tinged
Often
Bold
Think
Seldom
Thinking
Evening

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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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When Israel, of the Lord belov'd, Out of the land of bondage came, Her fathers' God before her mov'd, An awful guide in smoke and flame.
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Hurry no man's cattle you may come to own a donkey yourself
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November's sky is chill and drear, November's leaf is red and sear.
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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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I envy thee not thy faith, which is ever in thy mouth but never in thy heart nor in thy practice
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Sordid selfishness doth contract and narrow our benevolence, and cause us, like serpents, to infold ourselves within ourselves, and to turn out our stings to the entire world besides.
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But with morning cool repentance came.
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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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Oh, on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes front clay, Be Thou, O Christ, the sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away.
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We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.
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If you once turn on your side after the hour at which you ought to rise, it is all over. Bolt up at once.
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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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O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!
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Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Dream of battled fields no more. Days of danger, nights of waking.
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Literature is a great staff, but a very sorry crutch.
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Blessed be his name, who hath appointed the quiet night to follow the busy day, and the calm sleep to refresh the wearied limbs and to compose the troubled spirit.
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The happy combination of fortuitous circumstances.
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The willow which bends to the tempest often escapes better than the oak which resists it.
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As good play for nothing, you know, as work for nothing.
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