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A few drops sprinkled on the torch of love make the flame blaze the brighter.

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
Brighter
Flame
Flames
Make
Sprinkled
Love
Blaze
Torch
Torches
Drops

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Within that awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries!
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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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Each must drain His share of pleasure, share of pain.
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Literature is a great staff, but a very sorry crutch.
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We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.
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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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Charge, Chester, charge! on, Stanley, on! Were the last words of Marmion.
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Look at a gown of gold, and you will at least get a sleeve of it.
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Great talent has always a little madness mixed up with it.
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Women are but the toys which amuse our lighter hours---ambition is the serious business of life.
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When thinking about companions gone, we feel ourselves doubly alone.
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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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Each age has deemed the new-born year the fittest time for festal cheer.
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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.
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I was not always a man of woe.
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I envy thee not thy faith, which is ever in thy mouth but never in thy heart nor in thy practice
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Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Dream of battled fields no more. Days of danger, nights of waking.
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The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears. The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.
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