A gaudy dress and gentle air May slightly touch the heart; But it’s innocence and modesty That polishes the dart.
Dweller in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation, mark! Who in widow weeds appears, Laden with unhonoured years, Noosing with care a bursting purse, Baited with many a deadly curse?
The upright, honest-hearted man Who strives to do the best he can, Need never fear the church’s ban Or hell’s damnation.
A eunuch is a man who has had his work cut out for him.
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe.
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new.
Even thou who mournst the daisy’s fate, That fate is thine – no distant date; Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crushed beneath the furrow’s weight Shall be thy doom!
By Oppression’s woes and pains! By your sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty’s in every blow! Let us do or die!
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. – Robert Burns.
Beauty’s of a fading nature. Has a season and is gone!
And let us mind, faint heart ne’er wan A lady fair. Wha does the utmost that he can Will whyles do mair.
But little Mouse, you are not alone, In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes of mice and men Go often askew, And leave us nothing but grief and pain, For promised joy! Still you are blest, compared with me!
Here’s to us. Who’s like us? Damn few, and they’re all dead.
And O! be sure to fear the Lord alway, And mind your duty, duly, morn and night; Lest in temptation’s path ye gang astray, Implore His counsel and assisting might: They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright.
If there ‘s a hole in a’ your coats, I rede ye tent it; A chiel ‘s amang ye takin’ notes, And, faith, he ’ll prent it.
I love crystals, the beauty of their forms and formation; liquids, dormant, distilling, sloshing! The fumes, the odors good or bad, the rainbow of colors; the gleaming vessels of every size, shape and purpose.
Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, Here firm I rest; they must be best, Because they are Thy will! Then all I want – O do Thou grant This one request of mine! – Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, Assist me to resign.
Fickle Fortune: A Fragment Though fickle Fortune has deceived me, She pormis’d fair and perform’d but ill; Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereav’d me, Yet I bear a heart shall support me still. I’ll act with prudence as far ’s I’m able, But if success I must never find, Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome, I’ll meet thee with an undaunted mind.
Man is a soldier and life must be fought.
Should the poor be flattered? – Shakespeare.