Walter Scott

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.

Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening.

O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!

There is a vulgar incredulity, which in historical matters, as well as in those of religion, finds it easier to doubt than to examine.

Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above: For love is heaven, and heaven is love.

Where shall the lover rest,_x000D_ _x000D_ Whom the fates sever_x000D_ _x000D_ From his true maiden's breast,_x000D_ _x000D_ Parted for ever?_x000D_ _x000D_ Where, through groves deep and high,_x000D_ _x000D_ Sounds the far billow,_x000D_ _x000D_ Where early violets die,_x000D_ _x000D_ Under the willow.

On his bold visage middle age Had slightly press'd its signet sage, Yet had not quench'd the open truth And fiery vehemence of youth: Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare.

It 's no fish ye 're buying, it 's men's lives.

Call it not vain: they do not err Who say that when the poet dies Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies.

When thinking about companions gone, we feel ourselves doubly alone.

Unless a tree has borne blossoms in spring, you will vainly look for fruit on it in autumn.

But woe awaits a country when She sees the tears of bearded men.

There never will exist anything permanently noble and excellent in the character which is a stranger to resolute self-denial.

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!

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.

A thousand fearful images and dire suggestions glance along the mind when it is moody and discontented with itself. Command them to stand and show themselves, and you presently assert the power of reason over imagination.

When true friends meet in adverse hour; 'Tis like a sunbeam through a shower. A watery way an instant seen, The darkly closing clouds between.

The willow which bends to the tempest often escapes better than the oak which resists it.

A glass of good wine is a gracious creature, and reconciles poor mortality to itself and that is what few things can do.

Commend me to sterling honesty though clad in rags.

True love's the gift which God has given_x000D_ _x000D_ To man alone beneath the heaven._x000D_ _x000D_ It is the secret sympathy,_x000D_ _x000D_ The silver link, the silken tie,_x000D_ _x000D_ Which heart to heart, and mind to mind,_x000D_ _x000D_ In body and in soul can bind.