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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.

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
Good
Sky
Vivid
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Arms
Mighty
Revere
Name
Lightning
Directs
Head
Flash
Pole
Names
Sinner
Hardened
Though
Roll
Sinners
Voice
Loud
Vengeance
Fear
Awful
Thunder
Thunders

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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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Caution comes too late when we are in the midst of evils.
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I did not myself set a high estimation on wealth, and had the affectation of most young men of lively imagination, who suppose that they can better dispense with the possession of money, than resign their time and faculties to the labour necessary to acquire it.
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Nothing is more completely the child of art than a garden.
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I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten or twelve years, what would it be if they were to live double that time?
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Charge, Chester, charge! on, Stanley, on! Were the last words of Marmion.
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Credit is like a looking-glass, which when once sullied by a breath, may be wiped clear again but if once cracked can never be repaired.
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It is more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle.
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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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When thinking about companions gone, we feel ourselves doubly alone.
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Still from the sire the son shall hear Of the stern strife, and carnage drear, Of Flodden's fatal field, When shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear, And broken was her shield!
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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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Where is the coward that would not dare to fight for such a land as Scotland?
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Teach self-denial and make its practice pleasure, and you can create for the world a destiny more sublime that ever issued from the brain of the wildest dreamer.
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Heaven know its time the bullet has its billet
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Contentions fierce, Ardent, and dire, spring from no petty cause.
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Each must drain His share of pleasure, share of pain.
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I'll dream no more--by mainly mind Not even in sleep is well resigned. My midnight orisons said o'er, I'll turn to rest and dream no more.
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Ridicule often checks what is absurd, and fully as often smothers that which is noble.
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As hope and fear alternate chase Our course through life's uncertain race.
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