Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Firth. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Firth Quotes And Sayings by 92 Authors including Suzanne Enoch,Alison Pace,Victoria Roberts,Jim Butcher,Frommers for you to enjoy and share.
I am James Burlough, the Earl of Deerhurst.' The earl's pleasant smile capsized into not-quite-polite puzzlement. 'And who might you be, sir?
Maybe Ian doesn't come from london at all, but from Idaho. And not the potato part of Idaho, but the crazy, inbred parents locking their children up in a cabin, away from schooling and vitamins, guarding 'em safe with a twelve-gauge shotgun, part of Idaho.
Sometimes being a Highland Laird was a royal pain in the arse.
Who," said the man, his accent thick and British, "are you?" "The Great Pumpkin," I responded. "I've risen from the pumpkin patch a bit early because Butters is just that nifty. And you are?
Kenneth MacAlpin unifies the Picts and the Scots.
Jenny Fleming merely looked exasperated. 'That young man,' she said, 'ought to be plucked out of his pride and impaled on a thornbush. He introduced me to someone as the Controller of the King's Beam, last time we met.' Which at least had the merit of making her daughter laugh, if a little wildly.
The thing which grieves and oppresses my heart with respect to poor Scotland, is the hardness of heart manifest in the levity and cruelty with which they speak of others.
The Mayor of Murslaugh was a jolly, ebullient man of the sort who, in a well-ordered world, would be called Fezziwig. That his name was Brown was a powerful indictment on the sorry state of things.
Fenwick, sitting down to
So all we know about Hugh MacLean is that his financial situation is unclear, he has an unknown number of illegitimate children, and the family curse is true. I've caught quiet a prize!
The greatest shoemaker in England for many, many decades; he used to be the royal shoe-maker for the Queen Mother. This is where I learnt my trade.
They tell me that So-and-So, who does not write prefaces, is no charlatan. Well, I am. I first caught the ear of the British public on a cart in Hyde Park, to the blaring of brass bands,and this ... because ... I am a natural-born mountebank.
But he'll never be fully recognised, because Scots literature these days is all about complaining and moaning and being injured in one's soul.
Robert Smith is a whingebag.
Is this government of Britain's Isle, and this the royalty of Albion's King?
In Memoriam, Louis Anglesey, Earl of Upnor, finest swordsman in England, beaten to death with a stick by an Irishman.
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.
Behind the big names of twentieth-century literature there stands a shadow cabinet of writers waiting to take over once the Wind of Change has blown. My own vote goes to Hugh Kingsmill as leader of this opposition.
Colonel Hugh Pickering - Well, I'm dashed!
I should tell you that honestly, on my honour of a Nearwicked, I always think in a wordworth's of that primed favourite continental poet, Daunty, Gouty and Shopkeeper, A.G., whom the generality admoyers in this that is and that this is to come.
I am not an Englishman, nor are you. Nor can we ever be, regardless of our foxtrots, our straight bats, our Jolly Goods and I Says.
No more the Anglicized Percy, I.
I am now Taimur Hind.
Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal the mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne.
Both Plockton and the Isle of Muck in north-west Scotland are incredibly beautiful. Sadly, Plockton has been discovered by tourists because it's where they shot Hamish Macbeth.
To read Helen Macdonald's memoir, H Is for Hawk, is to feel as though Emily Bronte just turned up at your door, trailing all the windy, feral outdoors into your living room.
I heard Thackeray thank Heaven for the purity of Dickens. I thanked Heaven for the purity of a greater than Dickens - Thackeray himself.
If you recognize anyone, it does not mean that you like him.We all, for instance, recognize the honourable Member for Ebbw Vale.
There's something weird about the Scots. We are a troubled, slightly tortured race - the sense of the respectable outward character and, inside, the turmoil of something darker.
I kind of love Colin Farrell again. I think it started with In Bruges. No, I'm lying. It started when I saw a clip of his sex tape where he's manning the camera and instead of getting all Sex Tape-y, he goes, quite genuinely, "GOD, I'm a TERRIBLE cinematographer.
King Henry wants lands an'titles, like all the English."
"What do Scots want?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder. Darrow was far more sure footed than she was.
"A good woman, a warm bed, and food in their bellies." He grinned at her and she couldn't help but laugh.
It is a bad year for kings," said Gondy, shaking his head; "look at England, madame."
"Yes; but fortunately we have no Oliver Cromwell in France," replied the Queen.
"Who knows?" said Gondy; "such men are like thunderbolts - one recognized them only when they have struck.
Why do you like Hugh better? Because he is a Viscount?'
'Well, that's one reason,' I admitted, without any false shame. Respect for degree was in my blood and I didn't think of it as snobbery.
Perhaps to the north? I hear Scotland is lovely this time of year." "Are you barmy? Scotland is wholly abysmal this time of year.
Niall Ferguson is an intellectual fraud whose job, for years, has been to impress dumb, rich Americans with his accent and flatter them with his writings.
You [Scots] come of a race of men the very wind of whose name has swept to the ultimate seas.
[...] there were other people's Edinburghs quite different from hers [...]
LADY BRACKNELL
Algernon is an extremely, I may almost say an ostentatiously, eligible young man. He has nothing, but he looks everything. What more can one desire?
Robert Rotenberg does for Toronto what Ian Rankin does for Edinburgh.
Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.
My reaction to your news is delighted astonishment that Lanark has been judged more popular than a book by Ian Rankin, and only regret that this wonderful honour had no money attached to it!
He's British. He's addicted to waving his long stick around. He has a superb sweater collection.
How does he look, Jeeves?"
"Sir?"
"What does Mr Bassington-Bassington look like?"
"It is hardly my place, sir, to criticize the facial peculiarities of your friends.
When I moved to Sheffield and went to a secondary modern in the Seventies, there were certain challenges: if you've got a name like Sebastian, you either learn to fight or to run.
In Scotland, there is a rapid loss of all grandeur of mien and manners; a provincial eagerness and acuteness appear; the poverty of the country makes itself remarked, and a coarseness of manners; and, among the intellectual, is the insanity of dialectics.
For all the prizes, recitals and honours that grace Gordon Walker's glittering career, he still likes nothing more than coming home back to play. "I do like my Burns Suppers in Ayrshire. I've piped in the haggis, addressed it and then piped it back out again.
Obtruded on us by the Scottish historians. [* Chron. Sax. p. 19.] [** W. Malms, p. 19.]
Uncle Monty tell
Lives the man that can figure a naked Duke of Windlestraw addressing a naked House of Lords?
What is it ye have there, Murtagh?
Lord Aberdeen was quite touched when I told him I was so attached to the dear, dear Highlands and missed the fine hills so much. There is a great peculiarity about the Highlands and Highlanders; and they are such a chivalrous, fine, active people.
What Mr Blyth has been engaged in was not love, my dear Francis. It was romance, a thing to which Mr Blyth has been very prone; together with melodrama. Whatever made you think that melodrama makes Mr Blyth uncomfortable? He revels in it.
In no particular order: baked goods, Colin Farrell's eyebrows, and the thighs of rugby players everywhere. And to the city of Edinburgh, where a love story was born.
Edinburgh is alive with words.
KATH: (Katherine) BRENT, daughter of Ed: Brent, dee'd., 300 acs. Northumberland Co., N.E. upon Quiough 421 Riv., S.E. upon land of Capt. Giles Brent. 9 Dec. 1662, p. 79, (554). (Capt. Gyles Brent, 4 May 1653, assigned to sd. Edm: Brent & by him given by will to sd. Kath.)
[Connor to Major Wentworth, grandson of King George]
My fathers were lairds in the Highlands when yours were still farmin' kale back in Germany!
I prefer a good pair of boots to Shakespeare.
O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?
What is your name?" asked Lear.
Caius," said Kent.
And whence do you hail?"
From Bonking, sire."
Well, yes, lad, as do we all," said Lear, "but from what town?
I am the Earl of Ravensmoor. And you are? (Sparhawk) Totally freaking out. (Taryn) Tis a most peculiar name, milady. Are you by chance Welsh? (Sparhawk)
Sir Hugh Greene is the man I hold most responsible for the state of our country today. For 11 years hardly a week went by without a sniping reference to me. And he gave access to anyone who was prepared to say anything morally subversive.
Scots they're either nice or they're horrid and these two are horrid. The Scots wont like that Eamon, thats bordering on racism. Its not racism its ethnic criticism Bill.
He looked like a young Crusader on a tomb. That was Phyllis's first impression of Allan Harrington.
I love writing Scottish dialogue.
I like the spirit of this great London which I feel around me. Who but a coward would pass his whole life in hamlets; and for ever abandon his faculties to the eating rust of obscurity?
Me, sir! What has it to do with me? You can hardly imagine that I and Lord Bracknell would dream of allowing our only daughter - a girl brought up with the utmost care - to marry into a cloak-room, and form an alliance with a parcel? Good morning, Mr. Worthing!
Niall Quinn is a creep. The man's an idiot, a Mother Theresa.
Lord Worth: 'I think you may be quite useful to me. The heiress has a brother.'
Captain Audley: 'I am not the least interested in her brother,' objected the Captain.
There's all this stuff that is happening in Edinburgh now, it's a sad attempt to create an Edinburgh society, similar to a London society, a highbrow literature celebrity society.
My name is Alistair Theirin and I'm king of Ferelden. Long live the king, long may he reign! And so forth. Pray to the maker he doesn't do something stupid..
Lady Bracknell, I hate to seem inquisitive, but would you kindly inform me who I am?
I am a Highlander," Jamie said bleakly. He glanced once more at the far bank, where occasional glimpses of tartan showed through the mist, and then back. The shouting echoed from the fog. "And I am the sire of Americans.
No, the Duke of Wakefield would never be a darling of the feminine members of society. Something about him was so opposite to female that he almost repelled the softer sex.
It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.
What shall we do now?" he asked.
"Something very dreadful," she said,her voice sour."Ask Arlow Bowlerham for the name of a dressmaker.
this "gawky, stammering adventurer.
Bram, Linden, and Lachlan McGregor. The Scottish trifecta of hot guys.
Wouldn't you like to be my lord Duke of Exeter? Come on, Dom. Say something."
"You have lost your mind."
"Say something less insulting.
I've walked down the street with Madonna, and I've walked down the street with Colin Firth, and it was a little bit more ... with Madonna they were a little rougher, but they were all there for Colin. It was amazing. Women adore him. They swoon.
So soon? But I sup pose that is only to be expected. Lord Ramsay will want to see his estate."
"Yes, Mrs. Hunt." Leo said. "I adore bucolic settings. One can never view too many sheep.
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of Lochinvar.
Scotland is a great nation, but its horses are very uncomfortable.
I admire all my three sons-in-law highly. Wickham, perhaps is my favourite; but I think I shall like your husband quite as well as Jane's.
Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam, baronet, of Blackcliff Hall," he said, "at your service. And you would be?"
"Unconvinced," Gwen said.
The word was out that Royal Barnes was huntin' Kilkenny," somebody commented. "He was kin to the Webers, you know. Half-brother, I think.
Who ever thought that the world-famous Captain Obvious was really mild-mannered Colin Mochrie?
There's a real emphasis on being witty in Scotland, even in crime novels.
[on John Cowper Powys] ... there is an indistinct photograph of the great man himself, gazing into the misty cleft of a mountain range, wearing what could be an old rug, or an old cardigan. He looks like a cross between an aged werewolf and a puzzled child.
Scotland small? Our multiform, infinite Scotland SMALL?
He was from Glasgow. Everything past "good morning" was a blur.
And I hope you will not think me foolish when I also extend my thanks.
Thank you, Michael, for letting my son love her first.
- from Janet Stirling, dowager Countess of Kilmartin, to Michael Stirling, Earl of Kilmartin
Frederick Mitchell-Hedges,
And in repose one might have admired so fine a specimen of English manhood, until the foppish ways, the affected movements, the perpetual inane laugh, brought one's admiration of Sir Percy Blakeney to an abrupt close.
I think the Duke of Buckingham is the cause of all our miseries, and till the King be informed thereof, we shall never go out with honor, or sit with honor here. That man is the grievance of grievances. Let us set down the causes of all our disasters and they will all reflect upon him.
T he a n swer to the que s t ion "Why Shakespeare?" must b e "Who e l s e i s there?
Out on the moors,
The lonely moors,
I roll around in sheep poo.
Heathcliff, it's youuuuu,
I hate you, I love you tooooo.
Let me in, I'm here, it's meeeee,
Catheeeeeeee.
Look out of your windooooow.
Y-you, Marley Layton, are my favouritist big brother called Marley. The best, my very bestest one." George points her finger up at me as she speaks.
"I'm your only big brother called Marley."
"This true, this is vrery, vrery true," she slurs.
The woman who engaged him had no idea that her gardener was one of the most distinguished scientists in Britain until a friend came for tea one day and, looking out the window, casually asked: "My dear, why is the Nobel laureate Sir Lawrence Bragg pruning your hedges?" Late
For a fair maid of England hath told me
That the crows are departed the Tower.
So I'll seek for my bailiwick elsewhere,
Sniffing out some new dungheap of power.
Charles, I lost the bet.
King Offa's dyke,
Tell me of your Willoughbys, Heathcliffs and Wickhams in literature and I will tell you I met them all.