Nature’s law, That man was made to mourn. Man’s inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn! O Death, the poor man’s dearest friend, The kindest and the best!
ROBERT BURNSInspiring bold JohnBarleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi’ usquebae, we’ll face the devil!
More Robert Burns Quotes
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The honest man, though e’er sae poor, Is king o’ men, for a’ that!
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Oh would some power the gift give us, to see ourselves as others see us!
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God knows, I’m not the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be, But twenty times I rather would be An atheist clean, Than under gospel colours hid be Just for a screen.
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When Nature her great masterpiece designed,And framed her last, best work, the human mind,Her eye intent on all the wondrous plan,She formed of various stuff the various Man.
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My heart ‘s in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart ‘s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.
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An honest man here lies at rest, the friend of man the friend of truth the friend of age and guide of youth. Few hearts like his with virtue warmed, few heads with knowledge so informed. If there’s another world, he lives in bliss. If there is none, he made the best of this.
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Gie me ae spark o’ Nature’s fire, That’s a’ the learning I desire.
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The wide world is all before us – but a world without a friend.
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A eunuch is a man who has had his work cut out for him.
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Ye Hypocrites, are these your pranks To murder men and gie God thanks Desist for shame, proceed no further God won’t accept your thanks for murder.
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Some books are lies frae end to end.
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But facts are chiels that winna ding, An’ downa be disputed.
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Here’s to us, who’s like us Damn few, and they’re all dead.
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And like a passing thought, she fled In light away.
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The upright, honest-hearted man Who strives to do the best he can, Need never fear the church’s ban Or hell’s damnation.
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She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonny wee thing, This sweet wee wife o’ mine.
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Man’s inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn!
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The heart that is generous and kind most resembles God.
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When chill November’s surly blast Made fields and forests bare.
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Beauty’s of a fading nature. Has a season and is gone!
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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.
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My Son, these maxims make a rule An lump them ay thegither: The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither.
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Oh my luve’s like a red, red rose, That’s newly sprung in June; Oh my luve’s like the melodie That’s sweetly played in tune.
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My dear, my native soil! For whom my warmest wish to Heav’n is sent, Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
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Be Briton still to Britain true, Among oursel’s united; For never but by British hands Maun British wrangs be righted.
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God help the teacher, if a man of sensibility and genius, when a booby father presents him with his booby son, and insists on lighting up the rays of science in a fellow’s head whose skull is impervious and inaccessible by any other way than a positive fracture with a cudgel.
ROBERT BURNS