Best 94 quotes in «scottish quotes» category

Everyone still thinks I'm Scottish - that's totally wicked.

Give me but one hour of Scotland, Let me see it ere I die.

I am Michael, and I am part English, Irish, German, and Scottish, sort of a virtual United Nations.

If you want something Scottish, go get yourself a kilt.

I may be a werewolf and Scottish, but despite what you may have read about both, we are not cads!

I got into one of the Scottish classical styles called piobaireachd, which is a very old music that started around the 1700s or something. I really got into this music. After that, I started to compose bagpipe music in my notations. Then I started building bagpipes by myself, and then I started to perform with the instrument myself in the 1980s.

I often have scripts sent to me with allegedly Scottish characters where I end up telling them, 'You're going to have to rethink this whole thing!

It can fairly be said of John Smith that he had all the virtues of a Scottish presbyterian, but none of the vices.

I get recognised in the street, but that's more from all the Scottish people who are down in Blackpool on their holidays.

I've started looking at my own father a bit funny. He assures me, though, that I really am the son of a Scottish postman.

[Macbeth] is historically set in a place depicted by Shakespeare as brutal and violent, incredibly superstitious, and that's something that I do believe is Scottish.

Most traditional Scottish food is designed to use things that are just about to go...off.

I've been told I have an Irish temper, I know I have Scottish thrift, and, like the English, I love a good show.

Scotland is a great nation, but its horses are very uncomfortable.

Scottish football is full of hammer throwers.

Scottish operative lodges began in the seventeenth century to admit non-operative members as accepted or gentleman masons and that by the early eighteenth century in some lodges the accepted or gentleman masons had gained the ascendancy: those lodges became, in turn speculative lodges, whilst others continued their purely operative nature. The speculative lodges eventually combined to form the Grand Lodge of Scotland in 1736.

Scottish Theatre's greatest success story of recent times.

The Scottish Labour Party, while I have breath in my body, will listen to the views of trade unionists.

The Scottish are not shy when it comes to expressing themselves.

Sean Connery wasn't the Scottish James Bond, and Daniel Craig wasn't the blue-eyed James Bond. So if I played him, I don't want to be called the black James Bond.

Ah fuckin hate the way some American cunts call lassies cunts. Fuckin offensive, that shite.

We look to Scotland for all our ideas of civilisation.

An old liar told me here To think ahead and save my money. I should have spent it on ribbons. I should have learned the tune my dead grandfather played When the daft wife heard him resounding In the deep pine woods in early November.

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

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.

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 research.

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 claimed. “Are you the right person?” Lachlan wondered, as he took a half step forward. Cormag took a deep breath and brushed at a strand of hair that was sticking out at a funny angle from behind the top of his ear. He tugged at his short hair every time he talked about his recent break up. He was such a dork.

...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.

Ciaran broke the silence and spoke quietly. "She means naught to me." A tear fell down her cheek and she wiped it away. "It doesnae matter--truly," she whispered. He reached out and gently brushed her arms. When she closed her eyes to avoid his probing gaze, he raised her chin with his finger. "It matters to me," he said solemnly. He wiped her tears with his thumb. "I told her we were done when I returned to Glenorchy. She wasnae pleased. I didnae know she was there, Rosalia. She saw ye and Aisling and threw her body upon me." She could not help but smirk. "Her verra bare body, my laird." He paused for a moment, a spark of some identifiable emotion in his eyes. "I didnae notice, Rosalia. All I saw was ye.

When I watched Braveheart I was in tears and I was rooting for the Scottish people

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.

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

Christ – wid ye take a look at that numpty? Fuckin "Popeye" izzit?’ Jimmy gestured towards the bar. ‘C**t obviously husnae hud his spinach, eh?

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

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

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

Fortune, if thou’ll but gie me still Hale breeks, a scone, an whisky gill, An’ rowth o’ rhyme to rave at will, Take a’ the rest, An’ deal’t about as thy blind skill Directs thee best.

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.

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

Have ye been naughty or nice?” “It might be fun to get a little naughty.

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

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 firelight. Shadows etched his jaw while the light softened his face, his lips. The powerful lines of his chest were visible at the neck of his leine, as well as a dark peppering of small curling black hairs. “Whisky,” Ariana said with a forced stare at the cup instead of him. “Of course. I drink this all the time.” “Aye, I knew that about ye. When I first saw ye, I thought, ‘Now there’s a lass who can handle her whisky.’” Connor winked at her with disarming playfulness. “It’ll do ye some good. Take off the chill and settle yer thoughts.” “Why do you assume my thoughts are unsettled?” she asked. He took a swallow from his cup. “Because sleep comes easily to those without weight on their minds.” Ariana took a careful sip from her own cup, the way she’d seen men at the card tables drink. The liquid burned like sin down her throat and caught in her chest. She gritted her teeth and swallowed hard several times to keep from sputtering. Though she’d hoped to keep her reaction discreet, the grin on Connor’s face told her he saw through her guise. “It’s good.” Her voice came out in a croak and Connor laughed. It was a warm, rich sound and she found it terribly pleasing. His eyes crinkled. “Now that we’ve discovered yer love of whisky, why dinna ye tell me what’s got yer thoughts heavy?

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.

Her own hair was a glory of copper fire that morning, shining like a whisky still, long and loose in gentle flames down her back.

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 staring back at him in surprise. He lay his head on his arms, smiling at the way Cormag flushed in embarrassment and turned his full attention onto his bottle of beer. “Wow, you are super drunk.

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

He who lies down with dogs shall rise with fleas

If obedience is the chief thing good stood upon, why are not other laws and statutes urged as strictly as those which concern ceremonies?

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.