Lord Byron Quotes
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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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There is pleasure in the pathless woods.
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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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Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
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Be warm, be pure, be amorous, but be chaste.
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Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.
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Are we aware of our obligations to a mob? It is the mob that labor in your fields and serve in your houses - that man your navy, and recruit your army - that have enabled you to defy the world, and can also defy you when neglect and calamity have driven them to despair. You may call the people a mob; but do not forget that a mob too often speaks the sentiments of the people.
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'Twas thine own genius gave the final blow,And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low: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 sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.
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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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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.
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He seemsTo have seen better days, as who has notWho has seen yesterday?
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I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, - and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, - thou livest forever!
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I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters; it unmans one quite, Especially when life is rather new.
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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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I'll publish right or wrong:Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.
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Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.
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So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
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Yes! Ready money is Aladdin's lamp.
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To what gulfs A single deviation from the track Of human duties leads even those who claim The homage of mankind as their born due, And find it, till they forfeit it themselves!
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Despair and Genius are too oft connected.
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Heaven gives its favourites-early death.