| Quotes |
Topic |
| Journalism | Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat's;- If there's a hole in a' your coats, I rede you tent it: A chield's amang you takin notes, And, faith, he'll prent it. |
| Larks | Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining. |
| Laughter | The landlord's laugh was ready chorus. |
| Liberality | Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Though they may gang a' kennin' wrang To step aside is human. |
| Liberty | Liberty's in every blow! Let us do or die. |
| Life | O Life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I. |
| Light | Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray, By passion driven; But yet the light that led astray, Was light from Heaven. |
| Literature | The great Creator to revereMust sure become the creature;But still the preaching cant forbear,And ev'n the rigid feature:Yet ne'er with wits profane to rangeBe complaisance extended;An atheist laugh's a poor exchangeFor deity offended. |
| Love | But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love forever. |
| Love of Country | 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! |
| Man | A man's a man for a' that! |
| Man | A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that, But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith, he maunna fa' that. |
| Man | The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that. |
| Man | Man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn,-- Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn! |
| Memory | The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee, But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And all that thou hast done for me! |
| Merriment | As Tammie glow'red, amazed and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious. |
| Midnight | That hour o' night's black arch the keystane. |
| Nature | When chill November's surly blast make fields and forest bare. |
| Opinion | Facts are cheels that winna ding, An' downs be disputed. |
| Pain | Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale. from the poem The Cotter’s Saturday Night. |
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