Scotsmen are metaphisical and emotional, they are sceptical and mystical, they are romantic and ironic, they are cruel and tender, and full of mirth and despair.

Noble men in the quiet of morning hear Indians singing the continent's violent requiem.

All love is lost but upon God alone.

Timor mortis conturbat me. The fear of death disturbs me.

Our pleasance here is all vain glory, This false warld is but transitory.

Among my friends love is a payment. It is an old debt for a borrowing foolishly spent.

To God be humble, to thy friend be kind, and with thy neighbors gladly lend and borrow His chance tonight, it maybe thine tomorrow.

London, thou art the flower of cities all! Gemme of all joy, jasper of jocunditie.

Gem of all joy, jasper of jocundity.

Your law may be perfect, your knowledge of human affairs may be such as to enable you to apply it with wisdom and skill, and yet without individual acquaintance with men, their haunts and habits, the pursuit of the profession becomes difficult, slow, and expensive.

Neither our vices nor our virtues further the poem.

A lawyer who does not know men is handicapped.

I that in heill wes and gladnes Am trublit now with gret seiknes And feblit with infermite: Timor Mortis conturbat me.* * Fear of Death troubles me.