Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.
As hope and fear alternate chase Our course through life's uncertain race.
Spur not an unbroken horse; put not your plowshare too deep into new land.
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Dear to me is my bonnie white steed; Oft has he helped me at pinch of need.
"Charge, Chester, charge! on, Stanley, on!" Were the last words of Marmion.
Whose lenient sorrows find relief, whose joys are chastened by their grief.
To all, to each, a fair good-night, and pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.
That day of wrath, that dreadful day. When heaven and earth shall pass away.
Where is the coward that would not dare to fight for such a land as Scotland?
A few drops sprinkled on the torch of love make the flame blaze the brighter.
Necessity--thou best of peacemakers, As well as surest prompter of invention.
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year.
It was woman that taught me cruelty, and on woman therefore I have exercised it.
Hard toil can roughen form and face, And want call quench the eye's bright grace.
I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!
Wounds sustained for the sake of conscience carry their own balsam with the blow.
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth.
Discretion is the perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of life.
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of Lochinvar.
Saint George and the Dragon!-Bonny Saint George for Merry England!-The castle is won!
He that would soothe sorrow must not argue on the vanity of the most deceitful hopes.
Without courage there cannot be truth, and without truth there can be no other virtue.
Ridicule often checks what is absurd, and fully as often smothers that which is noble.
I was born a Scotsman and a bare one. Therefore I was born to fight my way in the world.
Where, where was Roderick then? One blast upon his bugle horn Were worth a thousand men.
The willow which bends to the tempest often escapes better than the oak which resists it.
All men who have turned out worth anything have had the chief hand in their own education.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like young Lochinvar.
Where lives the man that has not tried How mirth can into folly glide, And folly into sin!
Here is neither want of appetite nor mouths, Pray heaven we be not scant of meat or mirth.
If a farmer fills his barn with grain, he gets mice. If he leaves it empty, he gets actors.
Unless a tree has borne blossoms in spring, you will vainly look for fruit on it in autumn.
O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?
Vengeance to God alone belongs; But, when I think of all my wrongs My blood is liquid flame!
Who, noteless as the race from which he sprung, Saved others' names, but left his own unsung.
Tears are the softening showers which cause the seed of heaven to spring up in the human heart.
Many miles away there's a shadow on the door of a cottage on the Shore of a dark Scottish lake.
The schoolmaster is termed, classically, Ludi Magister, because he deprives boys of their play.
A rusty nail placed near a faithful compass, will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argosy.
I envy thee not thy faith, which is ever in thy mouth but never in thy heart nor in thy practice
The chain of friendship, however bright, does not stand the attrition of constant close contact.
Affection can withstand very severe storms of vigor, but not a long polar frost of indifference.
Women are but the toys which amuse our lighter hours---ambition is the serious business of life.
When a man has not a good reason for doing a thing, he has one good reason for letting it alone.
I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge are placed the milky mothers of the herd.
...crystal and hearts would lose all their merit in the world if it were not for their fragility.
Spangling the wave with lights as vain As pleasures in the vale of pain, That dazzle as they fade.
In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.
A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass, Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argosy.