Goodbye America!

I'm leaving one rainy, windy place (courtesy of Tropical Storm Faye) for another (that doesn't need no-stickin' tropical storm to have extreme weather and still wear skirts...um, kilts, in it!)

I collected Scottish Quotations to keep you entertained for the week I'm gone - so, for the two of you who read my diary every day, PACE YOURSELF!

"I look upon Switzerland as an inferior sort of Scotland." -Sydney Smith (1771–1845), British clergyman

"The “second sight” possessed by the Highlanders in Scotland is actually a foreknowledge of future events. I believe they possess this gift because they don’t wear trousers...That is also why in all countries women are more prone to utter prophecies" - G.C. (Georg Christoph) Lichtenberg (1742–1799), German physicist

"I ... walked to the Abbey of Holyroodhouse once to the Palace itself, once to the crown of Scotland above the gate in front, and once to the venerable old Chapel. I next stood in the court before the Palace, and bowed thrice to Arthur Seat, that lofty romantic mountain on which I have so often strayed in my days of youth and felt the raptures of a soul filled with ideas of the magnificence of God and his creation. Having thus gratified my agreeable whim and superstitious humour, I felt a warm glow of satisfaction." -James Boswell (1740–1795), Scottish author

"No more tears now; I will think upon revenge." -Mary Stuart (1542–1587), Scottish monarch

"You have sensible women here [in England] but then, they are very devils—censorious, uncharitable, sarcastic—the women in Scotland have twice—thrice their freedom, with all their virtue—and are very conversable and agreeable—their educations are more finished." -Frances Burney (1752–1840), British author

"Neighboring farmers and visitors at White Sulphur drove out occasionally to watch ‘those funny Scotchmen’ with amused superiority; when one member imported clubs from Scotland, they were held for three weeks by customs officials who could not believe that any game could be played with ‘such elongated blackjacks or implements of murder.'" -For the State of West Virginia, U.S. public relief program

"What a fog! Plane been buzzin’ around overhead for the last half hour. Must be like trying to find your way through the inside of a cow. I never did see such a country. Even the birds are walkin’." -Dalton Trumbo (1905–1976), U.S. screenwriter (complaining about the weather at an airfield in Scotland)

And quotes from Groundskeeper Willy, of Simpsons fame...

"There's nary an animal alive that can outrun a greased Scotsman."

Willy: Eek! I mean, ach! I mean ... what are you doin' here?

Homer: Uh, buh, buh, we're new foreign exchange students from ...
uh, um ... Scotland!

Willy: Saints be praised, I'm from Scotland! Where do ya hail
from?

Homer: Uh ... North ... Kilttown.

Willy: No foolin'! I'm from North Kilttown! Do you know Angus
McCloud?

Homer: Wait a minute! There's no Angus McCloud in North
Kilttown! Why, you're not from Scotland at all!

Willy: Ach, don't be daft. I was born and rai ... [notices the
hose] Hey, what the? [gasps] My retirement grease! No!
You thievin' grease bandits! I'll kill ya! [Homer and
Bart make their escape through the ventilation ducts] Wait
up!

And back to normal quotes...

Wealth, I ask not, hope nor love,

Nor a friend to know me,

All I ask is the heaven above

And the road below me. -Robert Lewis Stevenson



"How Wallace fought for Scotland, left the name

Of Wallace to be found, like a wild flower,

All over his dear Country; left the deeds

Of Wallace, like a family of ghosts,

To people the steep rocks and river banks,

Her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul

Of independence and stern liberty." - William Wordsworth



And my favorite, the "Address to a Haggis", by Robert Burns:


Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,

Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!

Aboon them a' ye tak your place,

Painch, tripe, or thairm:

Weel are ye wordy of a grace

As lang's my arm.



The groaning trencher there ye fill,

Your hurdies like a distant hill,

Your pin wad help to mend a mill

In time o' need,

While thro' your pores the dews distil

Like amber bead.



His knife see rustic Labour dight,

An' cut ye up wi' ready slight,

Trenching your gushing entrails bright,

Like onie ditch;

And then, O what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin, rich!



Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive:

Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,

Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve

Are bent like drums;

Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,

"Bethankit!" hums.



Is there that owre his French ragout,

Or olio that wad staw a sow,

Or fricassee wad make her spew

Wi' perfect sconner,

Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view

On sic a dinner?



Poor devil! see him owre his trash,

As feckless as a wither'd rash,

His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,

His nieve a nit;

Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash,

O how unfit!



But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,

The trembling earth resounds his tread,

Clap in his walie nieve a blade,

He'll make it whissle;

An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned

Like taps o' thrissle.



Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,

And dish them out their bill o' fare,

Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware,

That jaups in luggies;

But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,

Gie her a Haggis!