Steady of heart and stout of hand.
WALTER SCOTTGreat talent has always a little madness mixed up with it.
More Walter Scott Quotes
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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.
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Good Night, Goodnight, Dream.
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Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, And it’s room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!
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Teach you children poetry; it opens the mind, lends grace to wisdom and makes the heroic virtues hereditary.
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Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening.
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Hurry no man’s cattle; you may come to own a donkey yourself.
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Heap on more wood! – the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.
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The chain of friendship, however bright, does not stand the attrition of constant close contact.
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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.
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Of all vices, drinking is the most incompatible with greatness.
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Success or failure in business is caused more by the mental attitude even than by mental capacities.
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To all, to each, a fair good-night, and pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.
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To the timid and hesitating everything is impossible because it seems so.
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If you once turn on your side after the hour at which you ought to rise, it is all over. Bolt up at once.
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Commend me to sterling honesty though clad in rags.
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The will to do, the soul to dare.
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Great talent has always a little madness mixed up with it.
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I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!
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Hope is brightest when it dawns from fears.
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One or two of these scoundrel statesmen should be shot once a-year, just to keep the others on their good behavior.
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From my experience, not one in twenty marries the first love; we build statues of snow and weep to see them melt.
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The misery of keeping a dog is his dying so soon. But, to be sure, if he lived for fifty years and then died, what would become of me?
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Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.
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Where is the coward that would not dare to fight for such a land as Scotland?
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A sinful heart makes feeble hand.
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Many of our cares are but a morbid way of looking at our privileges
WALTER SCOTT