Quotes about scottish

...but the air's flat and stale and the people half-hearted. There's nothing to do there. You can make love without trouble or meaning, or get mildly drunk, or extract second-hand emotions from the cinema, or put your mind to sleep on a dance-floor, or play bridge, or throw yourself in front of a train on the Underground. There are forty ways of escaping from consciousness. But I want something more exciting than that.

To want more was not just childish, but cowardly, and somehow constpatory too. Death was change; it led to new chances, new vacancies, new niches and opportunities; it was not all loss.

Am I on your walk of shame? You did sleep with the right MacGregor, didn’t you?

It would ha' been a good deal easier, if ye'd only been a witch.

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,O, what a panic's in thy breastie!

Ya were going to turn me into a rat? Had I known that I wouldn’t have tried to turn ya into a snake.

Do not pay attention to my cousins. Every family needs a couple idiots and we keep them around for entertainment.

Lydia had been fantasizing about him to the point she nearly drove him insane with it. It had taken four days for his energy to weaken inside her enough that he could go and visit her without fear she would throw him across the town in a gust of wind, and thus cause a scene. Although, getting run out of town after one day would be a new MacGregor record.

There ya are.” Erik grinned at her as he came bounding down the steps two at a time. He stepped around his statue of a sister as if such a thing were normal. Perhaps here it was. He paused, nodding at Malina. “Morning, banshee.” He gave a small brotherly laugh and poked his thumb toward her face. “She does kind of look like a banshee with her hair flying around like that and her mouth all open. Yeah, ma froze her good. See how her eyes don’t move?” Erik leaned closer to her and grinned as he loo

Ly-di-ah! I sit beneath your window, laaaass, singing ’cause I loooove your a—”“For the love of St. Francis of Assisi, someone call a vet. There is an injured animal screaming in pain outside,” Charlotte interrupted the flow of music in ill-humor.

A stóirín, ya are a handful of trouble, but I kind of like it.

He kissed the corner of her lips before whispering by her ear, “And that was just my hand, love.

He’s not wearing…” Charlotte began.“I know. He doesn’t,” Lydia answered.

An old liar told me hereTo think ahead and save my money.I should have spent it on ribbons.I should have learned the tune my dead grandfather playedWhen the daft wife heard him resoundingIn the deep pine woods in early November.

Annie's message is timeless, her shining spirit and healing gift from the Spiritual Universe will capture your heart. She was born with birth defects in a time when special children and their mothers were put to death or banished. But have things changed really that much? Have they changed enough? "No!" Bullying, abuse, ridicule, and inequality thrives in the lives of women and children in our global modern society, just as surely as it did in the mid-1600s Colonial America. Based on factual res

If Canada had a soul (a doubtful proposition, Moses thought) then it wasn't to be found in Batoche or the Plains of Abraham or Fort Walsh or Charlottetown or Parliament Hill, but in The Caboose and thousands of bars like it that knit the country together from Peggy's Cove, Nova Scotia, to the far side of Vancouver Island.

He who lies down with dogs shall rise with fleas

If ye canna see the bright side o' life, polish the dull side

You can cover a great deal of country in books.

I returned to the fields of glory, where the green grass an' flowers grow,An' the wind softly sings the story of the braves lad of long ago.In the great glen, they lie a-sleeping, where the cool waters gently flow,An' the grey mist is sadly weeping for the brave lads of long ago.See the tall grass is there a-waving as their flags were so long ago;With their heads high, were forward braving, marching onwards to meet the foe.March no more, my soldier laddie, there is peace where there once was war

Hardship bred a bitter, quickfire humour and resilience to all but the most terminal of life's tragedies.

Why can’t I get enough of you?” she asked between kisses.“Do you want to?

You're crazy,' I say.'Aye,' Logan says. 'Crazy about you.

Logan lowers his head close to mine. 'Just know this, Ivy Calhhoun,' he begins. 'If I werena a ghost I would open all door for you, properly.

The importance of education is ingrained in Scottish history.

Scotland forms a crucial part of our Armed Forces which should not be jeopardised by rushed cuts or a rush to the exit from the U.K. Defence jobs are vital to the Scottish economy and yet independence puts thousands of jobs at risk.

My theory is that all of Scottish cuisine is based on a dare.

Release Lady Mirabelle and the kitten or I’ll run you through, skewering your belly, pinching out your life.

I had turned to leave and he had called after me. “Miss Maria, I kin no other woman who could be wearing men’s trousers and be dripping such as ye are and look quite so lovely. It’s a right shame your mother is marrying you off to that great sot!”I had turned to call back to him, “I doubt very much we will have to worry about that after today!

The old agility was still present and the passion was undeniable, but it was the wobbling of the gut, the puffing of the cheeks and the profuse sweating that lent the performance its true magic.

Someday, I’ll gain telepathic powers like every other regular movie ghost and I will go all Freddie Krueger on his bony, little, rat arse!”I rolled my eyes, but kept marching down the street.“Then I’d have to go all Ghostbusters on yours.”, I tried to keep my voice low to keep from drawing attention to myself.“No, you wouldn’t. You love my arse, darling!”, he walked backwards few feet in front of me.His big smile was enough to make me grin and roll my eyes again at him.

Though the continued march of intellect and education have nearly obliterated from the mind of the Scots a belief in the marvelous, still a love of the supernatural lingers among the more mountainous districts of the northern kingdom; for 'the Schoolmaster' finds it no easy task, even when aided by all the light of science, to uproot the prejudices of more than two thousand years. ("The Phantom Regiment")

Tony smothered the life that me and Ma had built, a furry mould growing over a sweating slab of cheese.

We left the nursery in silence, Ma smoking a roll-up, looking like she hadn’t slept in a week or maybe like she had slept for a whole week. When the nursery was just a grubby finger smudge behind us Ma looked down at me and said in her poshed-up telephone voice: “Will you speak to Janie about swearing? Fuckin’ busybody!”I laughed and swung our linked hands.“Aye, fuckin’ busybody.”Pleas of laughter escaped us and spiraled up into the hot, blue Scottish sky. We laughed all the way home

The writing talent of Edinburgh is textured - we have poets, novelists, non-fiction writers, dramatists and more.

When the infamous Shotts riot of ‘93 kicked off, Dingus was in the hall but he never started it or took any part in it whatsoever, he just sat in one of his friend’s cell, smoking hash, waiting for the riot to end. Dingus had seen all the crazy shit before.

I pulled the homemade jail knife out that I had in my hand, Porkie pulled out the very sharp lockback knife that he had concealed up his sleeve. We told the warden and nurse to sit on the floor, and if they did as we told them then no one would get hurt.

An exaltation of spirit lifted me, as it were, far above the earth and the sinful creatures crawling on its surface; and I deemed myself as an eagle among the children of men, soaring on high, and looking down with pity and contempt on the grovelling creatures below.

She needed this. For the comfort, for the love, for all the glorious things she did not deserve and yet could not stop herself from wanting.

The attendance of that brother was now become like the attendance of a demon on some devoted being that had sold himself to destruction

She was smooth and beautiful under his rough, callused hands-an amorous balm to soothe the ugliness of war.

Lachlan frowned as he misjudged the distance and his forehead hit Cormag's head with a bump. He wrapped his arms around his neck to steady himself, two big hands reaching up to hold onto his arms as if to offer extra support. “You,” he began, talking quietly into his ear, “are so beautiful,” he confessed, resting his heavy skull against Cormag's for a moment.He meant it as well. Cormag was stunning. He was taller and broader than he was, very much the fine figure of hotness. His dark hair was we

Cormag caught his hand and pulled him back until they were facing each other. “I think you're amazing,” he said, blurting the words out.Lachlan smiled, completely shocked and thrilled by how captivating he found him.He had never thought this could happen to him, that he would be attracted to another boy.He thought he knew himself so well.“I think you're smart, sexy, funny as hell. You have hidden depths, Lachlan. You only need the right person to coax you out of your protective shell,” he claime

He shook his head and thought about it for a second. “Maybe I'm not straight? Can I still be straight when I'm sitting here looking into your eyes?” he asked. Maybe it was the alcohol talking or maybe he wasn't as straight as he thought he was.“Yes. Absolutely.” Cormag nodded and watched him closely.“Even when I think they're so pretty? They are, you know. So many different shades of brown…and a little green. Just a touch; not a lot. So pretty.” He sighed happily, watching those dark eyes starin

We took morphine, diamorphine, cyclozine, codeine, temazepam, nitrezepam, phenobarbitone, sodium amytal dextropropoxyphene, methadone, nalbuphine, pethidine, pentazocine, buprenorphine, dextromoramide chlormethiazole. The streets are awash with drugs that you can have for unhappiness and pain, and we took them all. Fuck it, we would have injected Vitamin C if only they'd made it illegal.

As every languageless, stateless, selfless nation has one last, twisted image of its worst and best, we have the ceilidh. Here we pretend we are Highland, pretend we have mysteries in our work, pretend we have work. We forget our record of atrocities wherever we have been made masters and become comfortable servants again. Our present and our past creep in to change each other and we feel angry and sad and Scottish. Perhaps we feel free.

I'm proud of the culture I come from - we're a small country and a close-knit community.

Touch the stone,' said Beliah, 'and you will touch "reality", or what the ignorant of all ages think "reality" is. That kind of truth will kill you, man. You won't see morning! I have kept you all your life from such things as remorse, terror, pity. Touch the stone, and those same angels will change you into an old poor pathetic deluded dying creature. Hubert, a nurse has to shave you, your hand shakes so much. You know that don't you? You dribble at every orifice, Hubert. You've begun to smell

The website increases my excitement when I read, “Hark, the pies are calling!” My excitement is short-lived, however. I read the page again and realize that it is “pipes” that are calling, not “pies” as I had hoped. I am disappointed. I personally react better to the call of pies.

For me, writing stories set, well, wherever they're best set, is a form of cultural curiosity that is uniquely Scottish - we're famous for travelling in search of adventure.

He poured a splash of liquid into a second cup. “Come in and warm yerself by the fire.” Ariana walked deeper into the room, toward the glow of the hearth. It’s heat enveloped her skin and eased away the chill with such expediency, she almost sighed. Connor appeared beside her with a metal cup extended. “I canna sleep often myself.” She closed her fingers around the cool surface and glanced at the dark liquid within. A sharp scent hit her nostrils. “Whisky,” Connor said. He was perfection in the

I canna let you die like Da,” he said softly. “And yet ye canna let me live,” she replied.

Listen to the earth, Feel the fire. Allow the power to flow through ye.

There's nothing sweet about me, love," he said.

Damn, I would give anything to see that man naked," Charlotte whispered. "How could you only say he was 'all right'?

Her eyes widened, convinced by the size of it that his shaft was fully erect. She blinked several times. No, she was wrong. The bulge moved, growing as she watched it."Not that I mind ya staring, love, but I've got an appointment I must keep.

If Scotsmen don't wear anything under their kilts and they ride a horse, do you think they chafe their manbits?

She didn't even want to think of how hellish it would be if all the MacGregors made her feel like this one did, all hot and shaky. She'd have to move to the Arctic Circle before the month was out just to cool off.

My energies have been drained.Masturbating too much will do that.

Emotions like these didn't happen to regular, everyday people. They couldn't or else the entire world would be fornicating all the time.

For your next act, please don't pull any rabbits out of my... well, hat."....He licked playfully at her mouth. "And ya can't call my manhood 'rabbit'.

For your next act, please don't pull any rabbits out of my... well, hat."....He licked playfully at her mouth. "And ya can't call my manhood 'rabbit'.At least give it a manly name I can brag about.

One of Scotland's most important cultural exports - stories.

Many existing top 20 Scottish writers have flourished in part because of good turns done by institutions, arts community, libraries and bookshops.

Scotland consistently produces world-class writers.

You can only chase a butterfly for so long.