Lord Byron Quotes
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I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting.
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The very best of vineyards is the cellar.
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Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye.
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BecauseHe is all-powerful, must all-good, too, follow?I judge but by the fruits-and they are bitter-Which I must feed on for a fault not mine.
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And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.
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The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
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What say you to such a supper with such a woman?
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Sighing that Nature formed but one such man,And broke the die, in molding Sheridan.
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I am not now That which I have been.
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Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes, Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.
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You should have a softer pillow than my heart.
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A sleep without dreams, after a rough day of toil, is what we covet most; and yet How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay! The very Suicide that pays his debt at once without installments (an old way of paying debts, which creditors regret) Lets out impatiently his rushing breath, less from disgust of life than dread of death.
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He scratched his ear, the infallible resource to which embarrassed people have recourse.
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I suppose we shall soon travel by air-vessels; make air instead of sea voyages; and at length find our way to the moon, in spite of the want of atmosphere.
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With thee all tales are sweet; each clime has charms; earth - sea alike - our world within our arms.
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Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head?
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Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.
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The careful pilot of my proper woe.
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Armenian is a rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of learning it.
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Shelley is truth itself and honour itself notwithstanding his out-of-the-way notions about religion.
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Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.
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Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.
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Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.
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The simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, both by precept and example, shows / That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose.