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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.

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
Comes
Bush
Dewdrop
Next
Wave
Cheek
Like
Rose
Flows
Flow
Breeze
Summer
Cheeks
Childhood
Tear
Flower
Waves
Tears
Dry

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Although too much of a soldier among sovereigns, no one could claim with better right to be a sovereign among soldiers.
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To the timid and hesitating everything is impossible because it seems so.
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Fight on, brave knights! Man dies, but glory lives! Fight on death is better than defeat! Fight on brave knights! for bright eyes behold your deeds!
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Great talent has always a little madness mixed up with it.
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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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As good play for nothing, you know, as work for nothing.
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He turn'd his charger as he spake, Upon the river shore, He gave his bridle reins a shake, Said, Adieu for evermore, my love, And adieu for evermore.
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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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Charge, Chester, charge! on, Stanley, on! Were the last words of Marmion.
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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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For love is heaven and heaven is love.
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I was not always a man of woe.
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I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!
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In listening mood she seemed to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand.
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And better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.
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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.
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There is a vulgar incredulity, which in historical matters, as well as in those of religion, finds it easier to doubt than to examine.
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Success - keeping your mind awake and your desire asleep.
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My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, My gentle guide, in following thee.
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Jock, when ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree it will be growing, Jock, when ye 're sleeping.
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