Credit is like a looking-glass, which when once sullied by a breath, may be wiped clear again; but if once cracked can never be repaired.

O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood; Land of the mountain and the flood!

He who indulges his sense in any excesses renders himself obnoxious to his own reason; and, to gratify the brute in him, displeases the man, and sets his two natures at variance.

War is the only game in which both sides lose.

Never was flattery lost on a poet's ear; a simple race, they waste their toil for the vain tribute of a smile.

Heap on more wood! - the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.

Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand!