Author: photog

A miss is as good as a mile.

Sir Walter Scott

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.

Sir Walter Scott

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

Sir Walter Scott

Where lives the man that has not tried,

How mirth can into folly glide,

And folly into sin!

Sir Walter Scott