sorryboys brainrot because Harvey is simpbur coded and robberbur is argbur coded. (in my opinion)
OK LATE RESPONSE BUT YOURE ONTO SOMETHING!!
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sorryboys brainrot because Harvey is simpbur coded and robberbur is argbur coded. (in my opinion)
OK LATE RESPONSE BUT YOURE ONTO SOMETHING!!

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Ī»Ļ ĪŗĻĻĻĻ Ļ, -Ļ ĪæĻ, eyebrow of a wolf, Poet.
On September 21st 1832 the novelist and poet Sir Walter Scott died aged 61.
Born in a small third floor flat in College Wynd in Edinburghās Old Town, Walter was the ninth child of Anne Rutherford and Walter Scott, a solicitor and member of the private Scottish society known as the Writers of the Signet, so called for their entitlement to use the Scottish Kingās seal ā known as the signet ā when drawing up legal documents.
Whilst the Scottās home near the University was a popular area for lecturers and professionals like Scottās father to live, in reality the small, overcrowded alleyway saw little natural light and clean air and suffered from a lack of proper sanitation. Unsurprisingly perhaps then, that six of Anne and Walterās children died in infancy and the young Walter (or āWattieā as he was affectionately known) when he was just two years old, Scott became afflicted with polio. Though he survived the illness, his right leg would be unusable for the rest of his life.
Writing was not Scottās first career choice. He studied law, which he practiced after completing his studies. He later served as sheriff-deputy of his county, for our those not familiar with the term sheriff in Scotland one doesnāt have a star and six shooters but was a judge in the Scotlandās courts, a term still used to this day.
In the 19th century,Ā Scott's stories and poems put Scotland on the map as a tourist destination. And while his writings spanned the whole country, his heart was always in his adopted home of the Scottish Borders. In fact, the Borders feature in three of his novels, The Monastery, The Black Dwarf and Saint's Ronan's Well.
I wont go into his literary output this time, instead I will give you aĀ few facts about one of our greatest storytellers...
Scott contracted polio as a child and temporarily lost the use of his right leg. When he was sent to his grandfather's farm in Sandyknowe to recuperate, his passionate love affair with the Scottish Borders began. A second bout of bad health a few years later saw him convalescing in Kelso, where he learned even more about the old songs and folklore of the region. If it hadn't been for those fateful illnesses, Scott wouldn't have been inspired to celebrate the Borders in his work and it wouldn't have become such a popular visitor spot. His periods of ill-health meant he always walked with a stick, as seen in many paintings of him.
In 1786, when Scott was just 15, he bumped into Scotland's celebrated poet at a party thrown by philosopher Adam Ferguson . The two didn't speak much, but Scott later remembered being struck by the poet's dignity and the emotion that glowed in his eyes. Burns in turn appears to have been impressed by the young Scott's knowledge of poetry. The āsceneā painting is an imagination of the event painted yearsĀ later.
Sir Walter who conjured up the fashion magazine termĀ āglamourā.Ā It had a bit of a different meaning than it does now though ā he actually took it from the old Scottish word 'gramarye', which means a spell that enchants the eye. It appears in his 1805 poem, 'The Lay of the Last Minstrel'.
Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye,
A moment then the volume spread,
And one short spell therein he read:
It had much of glamour might;
Could make a ladye seem a knight;
The cobwebs on a dungeon wall
Scott expanded upon the nature of glamour further in his Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft of 1830, when in letter three he wrote that āThis species of Witchcraft is well known in Scotland as the glamour, or deceptio visus, and was supposed to be a special attribute of the race of Gipsies.ā
It is widely regarded thatĀ Sir Walter ScottĀ invented the historical novel Scott was the first English language author to enjoy worldwide fame while he was still alive. And with Waverley in 1814, he actually invented the entire genre of the historical novel. Five years later, his novel Ivanhoe helped to create our contemporary concept of Robin Hood, making the outlaw a nobleman called Robin of Locksley. This idea later inspired the 1991 movie, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, proving that Scott's imagination is timeless. Eventually, he used the financial rewards from his writings to build his house, Abbotsford, on the banks of the Tweed. Sir WalterĀ Scott served as chairman of the Royal Society of Edinburgh and was also a member of the Royal Celtic Society. His own contribution to the reinvention of Scottish culture was enormous, even though his re-creations of the customs of the Highlands were fanciful at times.
Scott has been credited with rescuing the Scottish banknote. In 1826, there was outrage in Scotland at the attempt of Parliament to prevent the production of banknotes of less than five pounds. Scott wrote a series of letters to the Edinburgh Weekly Journal under the pseudonym "Malachi Malagrowther" for retaining the right of Scottish banks to issue their own banknotes. This provoked such a response that the Government was forced to relent and allow the Scottish banks to continue printing pound notes. This campaign is commemorated by his continued appearance on the front of all notes issued by the Bank of Scotland.
Scott spent his last days at his house in Abbotsford, Roxburgh. He requested to be moved to the dining room in order to have a clear view of his beloved River Tweed from the window.
He died Ā on this day 1832 and was buried in the already derelict Dryburgh Abbey - a spot he identified at an early age as his resting place.
What it Takes for S.W.L
*
I feel the hand of the night sky
holding my shoulder tight
to guide me through
there is just so much pain
never been the one
to rise up from the ashes
with elegance and pride
to start anew
Oh, I listen
for the sound of your voice
in the rivers
in the forest
in the stars
I donāt know where you are
or how to find you now
but, I will never stop trying
tracing all of the years
our last three words
exchanged
I love you
*
and Iām dying
to see you again
*
©Ari Newman/2022
āThe poetry of earth is never deadā āso said Keats; likewise never dead is the poet himself

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Here's to the people we said goodbye to,Ā Even though all we ever wanted was to told on to them, Begging them to stay. Here's to those of us who still think someone who's long gone, And struggle to let go. Here's to the people we miss so much, That the mere thought of them, Feels like a knife to the throat. Here's to the chances we didn't take, Because the fear of failing, Was more than something that crossed our minds, It was a tangible thing that seeped into our skin, And paralyzedĀ our bones. Here's to the tears we allow to stream down our cheeks, Before we fall asleep at night so no one sees. Here's to the love we have given over the years, The pieces of our hearts we handed out, And never got back. Here's to the feeling we had to hide, And fake smiles we plastered on our faces, To uphold our charades. Here's to whatever obstacle we've had to overcome, Whatever battle we've had to fight, Whatever pain we've had to feel, To make us kinder and better people, To make us evolveĀ and grow. Here's to everyone who believes in something more, In magic, In love, In the power of dreams and faith, And everyone who has something to fight for. Here's to everything that made us who we are today. Every glorious thing, The mountains we had to climb, The stars we had to count. Here's to our ordinary lives, We never fail to turn into something extraordinary. Here's to our beautiful selves, Raw and real, A reminder that life is not a line or a constant, But a vivid creature with its up and downs, And that all inconveniencesĀ considered, We're doing pretty damn great.
Ā hereās to life / n.j. (via theprocast)
if u wanna talk girl im drunk thinking about wilbur we could go for hours :))
Letās start now yeah-
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