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Come forth, old man,--thy daughter's side Is now the fitting place for thee: When time has quell'd the oak's bold pride, The youthful tendril yet may hide, The ruins of the parent tree.
Walter Scott
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Walter Scott
Age: 61 †
Born: 1771
Born: August 15
Died: 1832
Died: September 21
Baronet Scott
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Walter Skott
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Sir Walter Scott
Sir Walter Scott
1st Baronet
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More quotes by Walter Scott
Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening.
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But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like again?
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Merrily, merrily goes the bark On a breeze from the northward free, So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the swan through the summer sea.
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What I have to say is far more important than how long my eyelashes are.
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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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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.
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Tears are the softening showers which cause the seed of heaven to spring up in the human heart.
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Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth.
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Ridicule, the weapon of all others most feared by enthusiasts of every description, and which from its predominance over such minds, often checks what is absurd, and fully as often smothers that which is noble.
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As long as the Fates permit, live cheerfully.
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The chain of friendship, however bright, does not stand the attrition of constant close contact.
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Many a law, many a commandment have I broken, but my word never.
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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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Of all vices, drinking is the most incompatible with greatness.
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If a faultless poem could be produced, I am satisfied it would tire the critics themselves and annoy the whole reading world with the spleen.
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The willow which bends to the tempest often escapes better than the oak which resists it.
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In the name of God! said Gurth, how came they prisoners? and to whom? Our master was too ready to fight, said the Jester, and Athelstane was not ready enough, and no other person was ready at all.
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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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Faces that have charmed us the most escape us the soonest.
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When thinking about companions gone, we feel ourselves doubly alone.
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