"Whence is the stream of years? Whither do they roll along? Where have they hid, in mist, their many-coloured sides? I look into the times of old, but they seem dim to Ossian's eyes, like reflected moon-beams, on a distant lake."

"Can I forget that beam of light, the white-handed daughter of kings?"

"Then rose the strife of kings about the hill of night; but it was soft as two summer gales, shaking their light wings on a lake."

"I was a lovely tree, in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me; but thy death came like a blast from the desert, and laid my green head low."

"I first read the poems in my early youth, with an ardent credulity that remained unshaken for many years of my life; and with a pleasure to which even the triumphant satisfaction of detecting the imposture is comparatively nothing. The enthusiasm with which I read and studied the poems, enabled me afterwards, when my suspicions were once awakened, to trace and expose the deception with greater success. Yet, notwithstanding the severity of minute criticism, I can still peruse them as a wild and wonderful assemblage of imitations, with which the fancy is often pleased and gratified, even when the judgment condemns them most."

"That Fingal is not from beginning to end a translation from the Gallick, but that some passages have been supplied by the editor to connect the whole, I have heard admitted by very warm advocates for its authenticity. If this be the case, why are not these distinctly ascertained? Antiquaries, and admirers of the work, may complain, that they are in a situation similar to that of the unhappy gentleman whose wife informed him, on her death-bed, that one of their reputed children was not his; and, when he eagerly begged her to declare which of them it was, she answered, That you shall never know', and expired, leaving him in irremediable doubt as to them all."

"Daughter of heaven, fair art thou! the silence of thy face is pleasant! Thou comest forth in loveliness. The stars attend thy blue course in the east. The clouds rejoice in thy presence, O moon! They brighten their dark-brown sides. Who is like thee in heaven, light of the silent night? The stars are ashamed in thy presence. They turn away their sparkling eyes. Whither dost thou retire from thy course, when the darkness of thy countenance grows? Hast thou thy hall, like Ossian? Dwellest thou in the shadow of grief? Have thy sisters fallen from heaven? Are they who rejoiced with thee, at night, no more? Yes! they have fallen, fair light! and thou dost often retire to mourn. But thou thyself shalt fail, one night; and leave thy blue path in heaven. The stars will then lift their heads: they, who were ashamed in thy presence, will rejoice. Thou art now clothed with thy brightness. Look from thy gates in the sky. Burst the cloud, O wind! that the daughter of night may look forth! that the shaggy mountains may brighten, and the ocean roll its white waves in light."

"Ossian is the decay and old age of poetry. He lives only in the recollection and regret of the past. There is one impression which he conveys more entirely than all other poets, namely, the sense of privation, the loss of all things."

"With a genius truly poetical, he [Macpherson] was one of the first literary impostors in modern times."

"Carthon, one of the poems, was translated into French as early as 1762 while the collected works followed suit in 1777. Diderot loved them. Voltaire parodied them. Ossianic plays, operas, and mimes were written. They influenced or attracted Mme. de Staël, Chateaubriand, Lamartine, Alfred de Vigny, Victor Hugo, and Alfred de Musset. Napoleon became a fervent admirer after he had read the poems in the Italian translation by Cesarotti."

"The Bruce, with which the Scottish contribution to English literature begins, long held its place as the national epic of Scotland."

"Perhaps the editor may be accused of nationality, when he says, that, taking the total merits of this work together, he prefers it to the early exertions of even the Italian muse, to the melancholy sublimity of Dante, and the amorous quaintness of Petrarca…Here indeed the reader will find few of the graces of fine poetry, little of the attic dress of the muse; but here are life and spirit, and ease and plain sense, and pictures of real manners, and perpetual incident and entertainment. The language is remarkably good for the time, and far superior in neatness and elegance even to that of Gawin Douglass, who wrote more than a century after."

"Na thar may na man fyr sa covyr Than low or rek sall it discovyr."

"Scottish literature begins effectively with Archdeacon Barbour's Bruce some sixty years after Bannockburn, and to the Bruce and Blind Harry's Wallace (so staunch is the Scot, and such an antiquary in grain) must be attributed much of the colouring and subsequent tone of Scottish sentiment. The Bruce is the better poem, simple, truthful, noble, stirring, a proper start for the literature of a fighting people."

"Na he that ay has levyt fre May nocht knaw weill the propyrte The angyr na the wrechyt dome That is couplyt to foule thyrldome, Bot gyff he had assayit it. Than all perquer he suld it wyt, And suld think fredome mar to prys Than all the gold in warld that is."

"A! Fredome is a noble thing! Fredome mays man to haiff liking. Fredome all solace to man giffis, He levys at es that frely levys!"

"Luff is off sa mekill mycht, That it all paynys makis lych."

"Thai eyt it with full gud will That soucht na nother sals thar-till Bot appetyt."

"Storys to rede ar delatibill Suppos that thai be nocht bot fabill, Than suld storys that suthfast wer And thai war said on gud maner Have doubill plesance in heryng. The first plesance is the carpyng, And the tother the suthfastnes That schawys the thing rycht as it wes."

"He maid thaim na gud fest perfay And nocht-forthi yneuch had thai."

"Men suld mak mirrie quhill thay mocht."

"Nocht is your fairnes bot ane faiding flour, Nocht is your famous laud and hie honour Bot wind Inflat in uther mennis eiris."

"In breif Sermone ane pregnant sentence wryte."

"Than upon him scho kest up baith hir Ene, And with ane blenk it come into his thocht, That he sumtime hir face befoir had sene. Bot scho was in sic plye he knew hir nocht, Yit than hir luik into his mynd it brocht The sweit visage and amorous blenking Of fair Cresseid sumtyme his awin darling."

"Quha hes aneuch, of na mair hes he neid."

"Ane Bow that is ay bent Worthis unsmart, and dullis on the string; Sa dois the mynd that is ay diligent, In ernistfull thochtis, and in studying."

"Best thing in eird, thairfoir, I say, for me, Is blyithnes in hart, with small possessioun."

"Lovers be war and tak gude heid about Quhome that ye lufe, for quhome ye suffer paine. I lat yow wit, thair is richt few thairout Quhome ye may traist to have trew lufe agane."

"For to be yong I wald not, for my wis Off all this warld to mak me lord et king: The more of age the nerar hevynnis blis."

"The man that will nocht quhen he may Sall haif nocht quhen he wald."

"Of Henryson as of Chaucer it can be said that the picturesque detail owes its effectiveness to the solidity and seriousness of what it grows from. Henryson's Fables (like La Fontaine’s – they deserve the comparison) do more than present types of human beings in animal guises and animals comically behaving like human beings; they build up a total and consistent society, both rendered and criticized."

"The nuttes schell, thocht it be hard and teuch, Haldis the kirnill, and is delectabill. Sa lyis thair ane doctrine wyse aneuch, And full of fruit, under ane fenyeit Fabill."

"His background is not simply the Abbey School of Dunfermline (where he is reputed to have been a schoolmaster), but the surrounding Scottish countryside and community to which he belonged. His wisdom – and his poems are very wise about life – evidently came from his having lived long and profoundly as a member of that whole Scottish community."

"Henryson's greatness is most plainly to be seen in the range of general principles and ideas which informs his poetry and which allows it to encompass tragedy and comedy alike. He is the most Shakespearian of the early Scottish poets."

"Unthrift, sweirnes, falset, povertie, and stryfe Pat polacey in dainger of hir lyfe."

"He usually lacks the originality of Henryson and the brilliance of Dunbar and Douglas. But what there is of him is good all through."

"Heir entirs Flattery new landit owt of France"

"Brother Wantonness, what thinks thou? Yon are the Three Estates I trow Gangand backwart."

"And to the Devill of hell condemne this mein3e; For quhy sic reformatioune, as I weine Into Scotland was never hard nor seine."

"Quhen the Sonne is at the hycht, Att nonne quhen it doith schyne most brycht, The schaddow of that hydduous strength Sax myle and more it is of lenth. Thus maye ye Juge, in to your thocht, Gyfe Babilone be heych, or nocht."

"Heir sall Wantones ga spy them and cum agane to the king"

"Sir, I wald speir at ȝow ane questioun. Behauld sum Prelats of this Regioun: Manifestlie during thair lustie lyvfis, Thay swyfe Ladies, Madinis and vther mens wyfis. And sa thair cunts thay haue in consuetude. Quhidder say ȝe that law is evill or gude?"

"But in the glances of his eye, A penetrating, keen, and sly Expression found its home; The flash of that satiric rage, Which, bursting on the early stage, Branded the vices of the age, And broke the keys of Rome. * * * Still is thy name in high account, And still thy verse has charms, Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, Lord Lion King-at-arms!"

"That nicht he sleipit never ane wink, Bot still did on the Ladie think."

"Lyndsay, with all his ancient coarseness…maintained for two centuries, even among the precise, his position as the popular poet of Scotland."

"Ere I depart this natioun, I shall mak Reformatioun!"

"Quhowbeit that divers devote cunnyng Clerkis In Latyne toung hes wryttin syndrie bukis, Our unlernit knawis lytill of thare werkis, More than thay do the rauyng of the Rukis. Quharefore to Colyearis, Cairtaris, & to Cukis, To Jok and Thome, my Ryme sall be diractit, With cunnyng men quhowbeit it wylbe lactit."

"I am the Queen of France and you are my subject"

"In my end is my beginning."

"Look to your consciences and remember that the theatre of the world is wider than the realm of England."