Of religion I know nothing -- at least, in its favor.

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.

There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.

My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears.

If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.

No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed.

Send me no more reviews of any kind. I will read no more of evil or good in that line. Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years .