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Quote by Robert Burns

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The Poetical Works of Robert Burns. Edited by the Rev. Robert Aris Willmott. New Edition. With Numerous Additions. [The Preface Signed: P. A. N.]

This book is a curated compilation of Robert Burns' poetry, showcasing his extensive and influential work. The new edition includes additional poems, enhancing the collection. Edited by the reverend Robert Aris Willmott, the volume offers a fresh perspective on Burns' literary contributions. more

Author

Robert Burns
Robert Burns

Robert Burns, born on January 25, 1759, and died on July 21, 1796, was a renowned Scottish poet. Known for his accessible poetry style and profound social criticism, Burns' works cover a wide range of themes, including love, nature, and the lives of the working people. more

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“Cerise ran through the course in her mind. “Three miles, stream on the right, Mozer Lake, Tinybear, Bigbear, Miller’s Path.” She paused, not sure if she’d said it correctly. “Three miles, stream on the right, Mozer Lake, Tinybear, Bigbear, Miller’s Path.” “Thank you, Dora. Put the sword back into Backpack and we’ll go.” He nodded at the river. “Who is Dora?” “You are. Dora the Explorer. Vamanos. Put the sword away or I will take it from you.”

“William strode to her. That’s how it’s done. Drink it in. She surveyed the carnage behind him. “Did you have fun?” He showed her his teeth. “Yes. Now they won’t take you anywhere.” Cerise stepped closer to him, so close he only needed to lean in and dip his head and he would kiss her. Since he saved her, maybe he could just grab her and— “That was the stupidest thing you have done since I’ve met you,” she ground out through her teeth. Belay the grabbing.”

“If you really want to know, I’d rather not have been born at all. I find life very tiring. The thing’s done now, of course, and I can’t alter it. But there will always be this regret at the back of my mind, I shall never quite be able to get rid of it, and it will spoil everything. The thing to do now is to grow old quickly, to eat up the years as fast as possible, looking neither right nor left.”

“The castle of Cair Paravel on its little hill towered up above them; before them were the sands, with rocks and little pools of salt water, and seaweed, and the smell of the sea and long miles of bluish-green waves breaking for ever and ever on the beach. And oh, the cry of the seagulls! Have you ever heard it? Can you remember?”