Lord Byron Quotes
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I die - but first I have possessed,And come what may, I have been blessed.
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Friendship is Love without wings.
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I loved my country, and I hated him.
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And they were canopied by the blue sky, So cloudless, clear, and purely beautifulThat God alone was to be seen in heaven.
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Send me no more reviews of any kind. - I will read no more of evil or good in that line. - Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years.
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Knowledge is not happiness, and science But an exchange of ignorance for that Which is another kind of ignorance.
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Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
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Who killed John Keats?'I,' says the Quarterly,So savage and Tartarly;''Twas one of my feats.'
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In secret we metIn silence I grieve,That thy heart could forget,Thy spirit deceive.If I should meet theeAfter long years,How should I greet thee?With silence and tears.
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Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtleAre emblems of deeds that are done in their clime?Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime!
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She was his life,The ocean to the river of his thoughts, Which terminated all.
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Farewell! For in that word, that fatal word,-howe'erWe promise, hope, believe,-there breathes despair.
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There was a laughing devil in his sneer.
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When all of genius which can perish dies.
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The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains. Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the Night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn'd the language of another world.
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Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the mostMust mourn the deepest o’er the fatal truth,The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.
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Who track the steps of glory to the grave.
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From my youth upwardsMy spirit walk'd not with the souls of men,Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes;The thirst of their ambition was not mine,The aim of their existence was not mine;My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powersMade me a stranger.
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Hark! to the hurried question of despair: 'Where is my child?'-an echo answers, 'Where?'
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Where is he, the champion and the childOf all that's great or little, wise or wild;Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were thrones;Whose table earth - whose dice were human bones?
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Jack was embarrassed - never hero more,And as he knew not what to say, he swore.
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If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.
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A great poet belongs to no country; his works are public property, and his Memoirs the inheritance of the public.
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I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse - borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne - misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be - let it end.