Self-praise comes aye stinking ben.
Self-praise is nae honour.
Sel, sel, has half-filled hell.
"Sel, sel," that is, the sin of selfishness.
Send a fool to France, and a fool he'll come back.
Send your gentle blude to the market, and see what it will buy.
A reproach upon those who boast of their gentle birth, but who possess nothing of greater value.
Send your son to Ayr: if he do weel here, he'll do weel there.
Send you to the sea, and ye'll no get saut water.