Helen Cruickshank

"Up the Noran Water In by Inglismaddy, Annie's got a bairnie That hasna got a daddy. Some say it's Tammas's An' some say it's Chay's; An' naebody expec'it it, Wi' Annie's quiet ways."

"This man set the flame of his native genius under the cumbering whin of the untilled field; Lit a fire in the Mearns to illumine Scotland, clearing the sullen soil for a richer yield."

"Sae smoor yersel', my man, Pit oot yer licht, Grey hair that's tow To a lassie's lowe Is an unco sicht."

"Laughter and gibes and scorn they brave for her: their pounds, their silver, and their pence they give; their time, their talent and their youth for her that she may live."

"They agonise in sordid tenements, with children stabled worse than sheep or kye. O, how can grace or peace or health abide such poverty?"

"I mind o' the Ponnage Pule On a shinin' mornin', The saumon fishers Nettin' the bonny brutes — I' the slithery dark o' the boddom O' Charon's Coble Ae day I'll faddom my doots."

"But where this passionate self will go, God knows, Who knows whence the lightning comes, and whither it goes."

"While I am not teetotal, a drunk woman I find revolting and Burns orgies detestable."

"Criticism in Scotland, of books as well as plays, is often bedevilled because we all know each other too well. The clique can cast its chill over its rivals; the claque delude with false praise."

"I am not asked out to drinking parties and have never been in a Rose Street pub. I can't be a poet."

"I mind o' the Ponnage Pool, The reid brae risin', Morphie Lade, An' the saumon that louped the dam, A tree i' Martin's Den Wi' names carved on it; But I ken na wha I am."

"Bide the storm ye canna hinder, Mindin’ through the strife, Hoo the luntin’ lowe o’ beauty Lichts the grey o’ life."

"The man that mates wi’ Poverty An’ clasps her tae his banes, Will faither lean an’ lively thochts, A host o’ eident weans."

"Under an arch o’ bramble Saftly she goes, Dark broon een like velvet, Cheeks like the rose."