Quotes from Sir Walter Scott

Hope is brightest when it dawns from fears.

I forgive you, Sir Knight, said Rowena, as a Christian. That means, said Wamba, that she does not forgive him at all.

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.

One or two of these scoundrel statesmen should be shot once a-year, just to keep the others on their good behavior.

Once upon a time there lived an old woman, called Janet Gellatley, who was suspected to be a witch, on the infallible grounds that she was very old, very ugly, very poor, and had two sons, one of whom was a poet, and the other a fool, which visitation, all the neighbourhood agreed, had come upon her for the sin of witchcraft.

come he slow or come he fast it is but death that comes at last

The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears; The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.

He that does good, having the unlimited power to do evil, deserves praise not only for the good which he performs, but for the evil which he forbears.

And please return it. You may think this a strange request, but I find that although my friends are poor arithmeticians, they are nearly all of them good bookkeepers.

To all, to each, a fair good-night, And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.

There are few men who do not look back in secret to some period of their youth, at which a sincere and early affection was repulsed, or betrayed, or became abortive through opposing circumstances. It is these little passages of secret history, which leave a tinge of romance in every bosom, scarce permitting us, even in the most busy or advanced period of life, to listen with total indifference to a tale of true love.

The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and for ever!

Discretion is the perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of life.

He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit, He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit.

Now, it is well known, that a man may with more impunity be guilty of an actual breach either of real good breeding or of good morals, than appear ignorant of the most minute point of fashionable etiquette.

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

Thou and I are but the blind instruments of some irresistible fatality, that hurries us along, like ships driving before the storm, which are dashed against each other, and so perish

God will raise me up a champion. ~ Rebecca (Ivanhoe)

He that is without name,without friend,without coin,without country,is still at least a man;and he that has all these is no more

The schoolmaster is termed, classically, Ludi Magister, because he deprives boys of their play.

You will, I trust, resemble a forest plant, which has indeed, by some accident, been brought up in the greenhouse, and thus rendered delicate and effeminate, but which regains its native firmness and tenacity, when exposed for a season to the winter air.

Where shall he find, in foreign land, So lone a lake, so sweet a strand!-- There is no breeze upon the fern, No ripple on the lake, Upon her eyry nods the erne, The deer has sought the brake; The small birds will not sing aloud, The springing trout lies still, So darkly glooms yon thunder-cloud, That swathes, as with a purple shroud

To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life, Is worth an age without a name.

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances! Honored and blessed be the ever-green Pine! Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to bourgeon and broadly to grow, While every Highland glen Sends our shout back again, 'Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!