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I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting.
Lord Byron -
I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
Lord Byron
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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 learned the language of another world.
Lord Byron -
None are so desolate but something dear, Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.
Lord Byron -
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction.
Lord Byron -
What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought.
Lord Byron -
And to his eyeThere was but one beloved face on earth, And that was shining on him.
Lord Byron -
And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure, In small fine china cups, came in at last. Gold cups of filigree, made to secure the hand from burning, underneath them place. Cloves, cinnamon and saffron, too, were boiled Up with the coffee, which, I think, they spoiled.
Lord Byron
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The image of Eternity--the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
Lord Byron -
Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
Lord Byron -
Who track the steps of glory to the grave.
Lord Byron -
The mellow autumn came, and with it came The promised party, to enjoy its sweets. The corn is cut, the manor full of game; The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats In russet jacket;--lynx-like is his aim; Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats. An, nutbrown partridges! An, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
Lord Byron -
Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.
Lord Byron -
By all that's good and glorious.
Lord Byron
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Not to admire, is all the art I know To make men happy, or to keep them so. Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago; And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation; but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?
Lord Byron -
You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her. Never underestimate the power of love. The way to love anything is to realize it may be lost. The heart has its reasons that reason does not know at all. Music is love in search of a word. There is pleasure in the pathless woods; there is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society, where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar.
Lord Byron -
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart βThe heart which love of thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd β To fetters and damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom.
Lord Byron -
The poor dog, in life the firmest friend,The first to welcome, foremost to defend.
Lord Byron -
Oh, for a forty-parson power to chant Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymn Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt, Not practise!
Lord Byron -
For most men (till by losing rendered sager)Will back their own opinions by a wager.
Lord Byron
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He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!
Lord Byron -
With thee all tales are sweet; each clime has charms; earth - sea alike - our world within our arms.
Lord Byron -
The heart ran o'erWith silent worship of the great of old! The dead but sceptred sovereigns, who still ruleOur spirits from their urns.
Lord Byron -
The Niobe of nations! there she stands.
Lord Byron