I cannot tell how the truth may be; I say the tale as it was said to me.

'Tis an old tale, and often told; But did my fate and wish agree, Ne'er had been read, in story old, Of maiden true betray'd for gold, That loved, or was avenged, like me!

Marry in haste, repent at leisure.

One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name

Jock, when ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be growing, Jock, when ye 're sleeping.

It is a great disgrace to religion, to imagine that it is an enemy to mirth and cheerfulness, and a severe exacter of pensive looks and solemn faces.

Love will subsist on wonderfully little hope but not altogether without it.