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What an ornament and safeguard is humor! Far better than wit for a poet and writer. It is a genius itself, and so defends from the insanities.

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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Do not Christians and Heathens, and Jews and Gentiles, and poets and philosophers, unite in allowing the starry influences?
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To all, to each, a fair good-night, and pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.
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It is a great disgrace to religion, to imagine that it is an enemy to mirth and cheerfulness, and a severe exacter of pensive looks and solemn faces.
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If you keep a thing seven years, you are sure to find a use for it.
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Fair play is a jewel.
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Look back, and smile on perils past.
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Meat eaten without either mirth or music is ill of digestion.
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I did not myself set a high estimation on wealth, and had the affectation of most young men of lively imagination, who suppose that they can better dispense with the possession of money, than resign their time and faculties to the labour necessary to acquire it.
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England was merry England, when Old Christmas brought his sports again. 'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year.
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Never was flattery lost on a poet's ear a simple race, they waste their toil for the vain tribute of a smile.
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He is the best sailor who can steer within fewest points of the wind, and exact a motive power out of the greatest obstacles.
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'Tis an old tale, and often told But did my fate and wish agree, Ne'er had been read, in story old, Of maiden true betray'd for gold, That loved, or was avenged, like me!
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For love is heaven and heaven is love.
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November's sky is chill and drear, November's leaf is red and sear.
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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.
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O! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!
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Spangling the wave with lights as vain As pleasures in the vale of pain, That dazzle as they fade.
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Steady of heart and stout of hand.
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Covetousness bursts the sack and spills the grain.
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But woe awaits a country when She sees the tears of bearded men.
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