Scottish Author Quotes

Arthur Conan Doyle

Robert Louis Stevenson

Walter Scott

J. M. Barrie

Iain Banks

Irvine Welsh

Alistair MacLean

I do hate the City of London! It is the only thing which ever comes between us.

Arthur Conan Doyle

Therefore keep in the midst of life. Do not isolate yourself. Be among men and things, and among troubles, and difficulties, and obstacles.

Destiny can sometimes be history coming back to bite you in the arse.

That nicht he sleipit never ane wink,
Bot still did on the Ladie think.

The world is full of tragedy; and sympathy, a little common sympathy, can do so much to soften the worst of grief. It is for the lack of that, that people despair and go down.

Taste is, in general, considered as that faculty of the human mind by which we perceive and enjoy whatever is beautiful or sublime in the works of nature or art.

Archibald Alison

The spot of ground on which a man has stood is forever interesting to him.

Alexander Smith

On ilk beugh till embrace Writtin in a bill was O Dowglass, O Dowglass Tender and trewe!

Richard Holland

He read the great stone Book whereon is writ The riddle of the world from age to age; Knew the fair marvels of the Zodiac, The stars and their processions; had by heart The elemental truths of chemistry. And zealously, within a mental maze, As dense as that which covered Rosamond, His teacher guarded him against the creeds.

Robert Williams Buchanan

The law don't like jazz clubs. No one wants anything to do with that kind of trouble.

In the first days
Of my distracting grief, I found myself
As women wish to be who love their lords.

I've seen the smiling of Fortune beguiling,
I've felt all its favours and found its decay;
Sweet was its blessing, kind its caressing,
But now it is fled, fled far, far away.

Alison Cockburn

A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast.
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While like the eagle free
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

Allan Cunningham

The typical public schoolboy is acceptable at a dance and invaluable in a shipwreck.

There is a voice in the waters of the great sea. It calls to man continually. Sometimes it thunders in the tempest, when the waves leap high and strong, and the wild winds shriek and roar, as if to force our attention. Sometimes it whispers in the calm, and comes rippling on the shingly beach in a still, small voice, as if to solicit our regard.

R. M. Ballantyne

The truth is the Tree of Life knows no seasons. High up among its branches spring warbles all the year; and they are only the poor pensioners underneath who count the months, and tell an autumn and a winter.

No one can tell, when two people walk closely together, what unconscious communication one mind may have with another

Not even a hand-stitched suit could hide a body gone ruinously to seed. I was tempted to offer some fashion advice, but I didn't think he'd welcome the news that this year, bellies are being worn inside the trousers.

It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man...

He knew by heart every last minute crack on its surface. He had made maps of the ceiling and gone exploring on them; rivers, islands, and continents. He had made guessing games of it and discovered hidden objects; faces, birds, and fishes. He made mathematical calculations of it and rediscovered his childhood; theorems, angles, and triangles. There was practically nothing else he could do but look at it. He hated the sight of it.

I cannot help thinking his hypotheses are like inverted pyramids - a great deal resting on very little.

John Cunningham Geikie

The noble people will be nobly ruled, and the ignorant and corrupt ignobly.

For honesty is before honor; and though man must write his poems in sounding words, God's poems are printed best in the brave and silent duties of common life.

Isabella Fyvie Mayo

Yet why evoke the spectres of black night
To blot the sunshine of exultant years?

James Thomson (B.V.)

How still the morning of the hallow'd day! Mute is the voice of rural labour, hush'd The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.