“The voice of Nature loudly cries,And many a message from the skies,That something in us never dies.”

Some rhyme a neebor’s name to lash; Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu’ cash; Some rhyme to court the countra clash, An’ raise a din; For me, an aim I never fash; I rhyme for fun.

There’s some are fou o’ love divine; There’s some are fou o’ brandy.

God knows, I’m no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be.

The golden hours on angel wings Flew o’er me and my dearie, For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary.

My Son, these maxims make a rule An lump them ay thegither: The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither.

Beauty’s of a fading nature. Has a season and is gone!

Life is but a day at most.

The honest man, though e’er sae poor, Is king o’ men, for a’ that!

There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing.

The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o’ the morn.

When chill November’s surly blast Made fields and forests bare.

Now’s the day and now’s the hour.

Some books are lies frae end to end.

It ‘s guid to be merry and wise, It ‘s guid to be honest and true, It ‘s guid to support Caledonia’s cause, And bide by the buff and the blue.

To make a happy fireside clime To weans and wife, That’s the true pathos and sublime Of human life.

And like a passing thought, she fled In light away.

Boys do cry, but I don’t think I shed a tear for a good chunk of my teenage years.

I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week.

Cry later, but for now, let’s enjoy the laughter.

I don’t like looking back. I’m always constantly looking forward. I’m not the one to sort of sit and cry over spilt milk. I’m too busy looking for the next cow.

Don’t sweat, don’t cry, we don’t need no wings to fly.

When you cry I cry and when you hurt I hurt. And together we will try to hold back the floods to tears and despair and make it through the potholed street of life.

Organize, agitate, educate, must be our war cry.

Don’t expect me to cry for the wrong reasons.