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Honour is a homicide and a bloodspiller, that gangs about making frays in the street but Credit is a decent honest man, that sits at hame and makes the pat play.

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
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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
Men
Decent
Credit
Street
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Making
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Honour

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In man's most dark extremity Oft succour dawns from Heaven.
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Many a law, many a commandment have I broken, but my word never.
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In love quarrels the party that loves the most is always most willing to acknowledge the greater fault.
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Great talent has always a little madness mixed up with it.
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All live by seeming. The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldier Will eke with it his service.--All admit it, All practise it and he who is content With showing what he is, shall have small credit In church, or camp, or state.--So wags the world.
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The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have know a better day.
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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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Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain! Vain as the leaf upon the stream, And fickle as a changeful dream Fantastic as a woman's mood, And fierce as Frenzy's fever'd blood. Thou many-headed monster thing, Oh who would wish to be thy king!
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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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It is only when I dally with what I am about, look back and aside, instead of keeping my eyes straight forward, that I feel these cold sinkings of the heart.
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Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand!
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Without courage there cannot be truth, and without truth there can be no other virtue.
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It was woman that taught me cruelty, and on woman therefore I have exercised it.
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Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears, Fever'd the progress of these years, Yet now, days, weeks, and months but seem The recollection of a dream.
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One hour of life, crowded to the full with glorious action, and filled with noble risks, is worth whole years of those mean observances of paltry decorum, in which men steal through existence, like sluggish waters through a marsh, without either honor or observation.
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And children know, Instinctive taught, the friend and foe.
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Literature is a great staff, but a very sorry crutch.
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Love will subsist on wonderfully little hope but not altogether without it.
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The race of mankind would perish did they cease to aid each other. We cannot exist without mutual help. All therefore that need aid have a right to ask it from their fellow-men and no one who has the power of granting can refuse it without guilt.
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The summer dawn's reflected hue To purple changed Lock Katrine blue, Mildly and soft the western breeze Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees, And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, Trembled but dimpled not for joy.
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