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Man is made or unmade by himself; in the armory of thought, he forges the weapons by which he destroys himself. He also fashions the tools with which he builds for himself heavenly mansions of joy and strength and peace.

Tuesday
Mar 10, 2026

Quotes: 53419
Authors: 9969

About Sir Walter Scott

Sir Walter Scott

Sir Walter Scott
(1771-1832)

Popular Sir Walter Scott Quotes

He turn'd his charger as he spake, Upon the river shore, He gave his bridle reins a shake, Said, 'Adieu for evermore, my love, And adieu for evermore.'

To the timid and hesitating everything is impossible because it seems so.

Ridicule, the weapon of all others most feared by enthusiasts of every description, and which from its predominance over such minds, often checks what is absurd, and fully as often smothers that which is noble.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like young Lochinvar.

O!, many a shaft at random sent Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word at random spoken May soothe, or wound, a heart that 's broken!

Woman's faith and woman's trust, Write the characters in dust.

The will to do, the soul to dare.

Widowed wife and wedded maid.

So wags the world.

If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight.

Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die.

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored and unsung.

I cannot tell how the truth may be; I say the tale as ‘twas said to me.

True love 's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven: It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes soon as granted fly; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart and mind to mind In body and in soul can bind.

Jock, when ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be growing, Jock, when ye 're sleeping.

Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain! Vain as the leaf upon the stream, And fickle as a changeful dream; Fantastic as a woman's mood, And fierce as Frenzy's fever'd blood. Thou many-headed monster thing, Oh who would wish to be thy king!

Time rolls his ceaseless course.

Still are the thoughts to memory dear.

Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea. The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea.

The stag at eve had drunk his fill, Where danced the moon on Monam’s rill, And deep his midnight lair had made In lone Glenartney’s hazel shade.

The playbill, which is said to have announced the tragedy of Hamlet, the character of the Prince of Denmark being left out.

Recollect that the Almighty, who gave the dog to be companion of our pleasures and our toils, hath invested him with a nature noble and incapable of deceit.

Tell that to the marines — the sailors won’t believe it.

But woe awaits a country when She sees the tears of bearded men.

The sun never sets on the immense empire of Charles V.

No pale gradations quench his ray, No twilight dews his wrath allay.

And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel.

Steady of heart and stout of hand.

Soldier rest! thy warfare o’er, Sleep the sleep thast knows not breaking, Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking.

Although too much of a soldier among sovereigns, no one could claim with better right to be a sovereign among soldiers.

When Prussia hurried to the field, And snatch'd the spear, but left the shield.

With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

Along thy wild and willow'd shore.

Scared out of his seven senses.

Rouse the lion from his lair.

The rose is fairest when ‘tis budding new.

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

Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel.

For ne’er was lost on poet’s ear: A simple race! They waste their toil For the vain tribute of a smile.

But patience, cousin, and shuffle the cards Till our hand is a stronger one.

As old as the hills

November’s sky is chill and drear, November’s leaf is red and sear.

It 's no fish ye 're buying, it 's men's lives.

Call it not vain: they do not err Who say that when the poet dies Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies.

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d, As home his footsteps he hath turn’d From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonor’d, and unsung.

My foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor.

Within that awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries!

When, musing on companions gone, We doubly feel ourselves alone.

A mother's pride, a father's joy.

But with the morning cool reflection came.

Where lives the man that has not tried How mirth can into folly glide, And folly into sin!

I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge are placed the milky mothers of the herd.

... suspected to have more tongue in his head than mettle in his bosom.

Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.

I was not always a man of woe.

'T is an old tale and often told; But did my fate and wish agree, Ne'er had been read, in story old, Of maiden true betray'd for gold, That loved, or was avenged, like me.

Her blue eyes sought the west afar, For lovers love the western star.

In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below and saints above; For love is heaven, and heaven is love.

For Love will still be lord of all.

Affection can withstand very severe storms of vigor, but not a long polar frost of indifference.

In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.

In listening mood she seemed to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand.

Spangling the wave with lights as vain As pleasures in the vale of pain, That dazzle as they fade.

Lightly from fair to fair he flew, And loved to plead, lament, and sue; Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain, For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.

A lawyer without history or literature is a mechanic, a mere working mason; if he possesses some knowledge of these, he may venture to call himself an architect.

But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like again?

'Lambe them, lads! lambe them!' a cant phrase of the time derived from the fate of Dr. Lambe, an astrologer and quack, who was knocked on the head by the rabble in Charles the First's time.

What can they see in the longest kingly line in Europe, save that it runs back to a successful soldier?

When Israel, of the Lord belov'd, Out of the land of bondage came, Her fathers' God before her mov'd, An awful guide in smoke and flame.

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of Lochinvar.

O woman! in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!

Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.

O fading honours of the dead! O high ambition, lowly laid!

The happy combination of fortuitous circumstances.

Hail to the chief who in triumph advances!

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace Of finer form or lovelier face.

Good wine needs neither bush nor preface To make it welcome.

There 's a gude time coming.

When a man hasn't a good reason for doing a thing, he has a good reason for letting it alone.

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

Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and forever!

Profan'd the God-given strength, and marr'd the lofty line.

Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer's queen.

Nothing is more completely the child of art than a garden.

Art thou a friend to Roderick?

A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dash'd the dew.

Ne'er Was flattery lost on poet's ear; A simple race! they waste their toil For the vain tribute of a smile.

There is a southern proverb — fine words butter no parsnips.

Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.

Fat, fair, and forty.

I’ll make thee famous by my pen, And glorious by my sword.

The Book of Books Within this ample volume lies The mystery of mysteries. Happiest they of human race To whom their God has given grace To read, to fear, to hope, to pray, To lift the latch, to force the way; But better had they ne’er been born That read to doubt or read to scorn.

Sea of upturned faces.

Oh for a blast of that dread horn On Fontarabian echoes borne!

And better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.

Oh what a tangled web we weave When first we practise to deceive.

Upon the death of his wife: May 16 [1826]— She died at nine in the morning, after being ill for two days—easy at last. I arrived here late last night. For myself, I scarce know how I feel — sometimes as firm as the Bass Rock, sometimes as weak as the wate

And come he slow, or come he fast, It is but Death who comes at last.

That day of wrath, that dreadful day. When heaven and earth shall pass away.

In man's most dark extremity Oft succour dawns from Heaven.

Where 's the coward that would not dare To fight for such a land?

Stood for his country’s glory fast, And nailed her colors to the mast!

Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I.

Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended; Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded.

'Charge, Chester, charge! on, Stanley, on!' Were the last words of Marmion.

O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood; Land of the mountain and the flood!

Such is the custom of Branksome Hall.

Bluid is thicker than water.

Where, where was Roderick then? One blast upon his bugle horn Were worth a thousand men.

And dar'st thou then To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall?

Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth.

Thus aged men, full loth and slow, The vanities of life forego, And count their youthful follies o'er, Till Memory lends her light no more.

The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have know a better day.

On his bold visage middle age Had slightly press'd its signet sage, Yet had not quench'd the open truth And fiery vehemence of youth: Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare.

If you have no friends to share or rejoice in your success in life — if you cannot look back to those whom you owe gratitude, or forward to those to whom you ought to afford protection, still it is no less incumbent on you to move steadily in the path of duty; for your active excretions are due not only to society; but in humble gratitude to the Being who made you a member of it, with powers to save yourself and others.

One hour of life, crowded to the full with glorious action, and filled with noble risks, is worth whole years of those mean observances of paltry decorum.

O! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!

Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above: For love is heaven, and heaven is love.

Tears are the softening showers which cause the seed of heaven to spring up in the human heart.

We shall never learn to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, unless we have taught ourselves to consider every thing as moonshine, compared with the education of the heart.

O what a tangled web we weave, When first we practice to deceive.

Thus pleasures fade away; Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay, And leave us dark, forlorn, and gray.

Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and for ever!

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

When a man has not a good reason for doing a thing, he has one good reason for letting it alone.

The half hour between waking and rising has all my life proved propitious to any task which was exercising my invention...It was always when I first opened my eyes that the desired ideas thronged upon me.

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

Hope is brightest when it dawns from fears.

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

Ambition breaks the ties of blood, And forgets the obligations of gratitude.

A man may drink and not be drunk; A man may fight and not be slain; A man may kiss a bonny lass, And yet be welcome home again.

Success or failure in business is caused more by the mental attitude even than by mental capacities.

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