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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.
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
Vessel
Storm
Hurries
Driving
Goodly
Thou
Dashed
Instruments
Fatality
Blind
Vessels
Along
Perish
Like
Irresistible
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Of all vices, drinking is the most incompatible with greatness.
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Welcome as the flowers in May.
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Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains, Winning from Reason's hand the reins, Pity and woe! for such a mind Is soft contemplative, and kind.
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A glass of good wine is a gracious creature, and reconciles poor mortality to itself and that is what few things can do.
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Many of our cares are but a morbid way of looking at our privileges
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The chain of friendship, however bright, does not stand the attrition of constant close contact.
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A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year.
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Many miles away there's a shadow on the door of a cottage on the Shore of a dark Scottish lake.
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For deadly fear can time outgo, and blanch at once the hair.
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As good play for nothing, you know, as work for nothing.
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Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung.
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Love will subsist on wonderfully little hope but not altogether without it.
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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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What can they see in the longest kingly line in Europe, save that it runs back to a successful soldier?
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Profan'd the God-given strength, and marr'd the lofty line.
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The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed!
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come he slow or come he fast it is but death that comes at last
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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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O woman! in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!
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Mellow nuts have the hardest rind.
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