Lord Byron Quotes
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Yes! Ready money is Aladdin's lamp.
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Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.
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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.
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O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.
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Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy.
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I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil.
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The castled crag of Drachenfels, Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine.
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I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it.
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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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Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom.
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There is no traitor like him whose domestic treason plants the poniard within the breast that trusted to his truth.
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Shrine of the mighty! can it beThat this is all remains of thee?
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Whose game was empires and whose stakes were thrones,Whose table earth, whose dice were human bones.
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So we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart still be as loving, And the moon still be as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul outwears the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.
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For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast.
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Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
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There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
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Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
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Romances paint at full length people's wooing. But only give a bust of marriages.
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Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, sermons and soda water the day after.
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I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.
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There is pleasure in the pathless woods.
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So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.
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Though the night was made for loving,And the day returns too soon,Yet we'll go no more a rovingBy the light of the moon.