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Hard toil can roughen form and face, And want call quench the eye's bright grace.

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
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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
Hard
Toil
Work
Bright
Grace
Call
Face
Faces
Eye
Form
Quench

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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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Great talent has always a little madness mixed up with it.
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Chess is a sad waste of brains.
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Heap on more wood! - the wind is chill But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.
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Nothing is more completely the child of art than a garden.
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So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like young Lochinvar.
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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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The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed!
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One or two of these scoundrel statesmen should be shot once a-year, just to keep the others on their good behavior.
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Lightly from fair to fair he flew, And loved to plead, lament, and sue Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain, For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.
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My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, My gentle guide, in following thee.
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Here eglantine embalm'd the air, Hawthorne and hazel mingled there The primrose pale, and violet flower, Found in each cliff a narrow bower Fox-glove and nightshade, side by side, Emblems of punishment and pride, Group'd their dark hues with every stain The weather-beaten crags retain.
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As good play for nothing, you know, as work for nothing.
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Call it not vain: they do not err Who say that when the poet dies Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies.
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Art thou a friend to Roderick?
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Meat eaten without either mirth or music is ill of digestion.
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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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A mother's pride, a father's joy.
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True love's the gift which God has given to man alone beneath the heaven.
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What can they see in the longest kingly line in Europe, save that it runs back to a successful soldier?
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