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Contentions fierce, Ardent, and dire, spring from no petty cause.

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
Fierce
Spring
Cause
Causes
Contentions
Dire
Contention
Ardent
Petty

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Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.
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Spur not an unbroken horse put not your plowshare too deep into new land.
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The willow which bends to the tempest often escapes better than the oak which resists it.
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Good wine needs neither bush nor preface to make it welcome. And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd.
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Certainly, quoth Athelstane, women are the least to be trusted of all animals, monks and abbots excepted.
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Every hour has its end.
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Mankind — the race would perish did they cease to aid each other.
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Love will subsist on wonderfully little hope but not altogether without it.
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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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Give me an honest laugher.
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I will but confess the sins of my green cloak to my grey friar's frock, and all shall be well again.
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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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My foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor.
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In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.
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Thou and I are but the blind instruments of some irresistible fatality, that hurries us along, like goodly vessels driving before the storm, which are dashed against each other, and so perish.
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To be ambitious of true honor, of the true glory and perfection of our natures, is the very principle and incentive of virtue.
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Where is the coward that would not dare to fight for such a land as Scotland?
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He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit, He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit.
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Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die.
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We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.
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