Lord Byron Quotes
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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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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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There is no traitor like him whose domestic treason plants the poniard within the breast that trusted to his truth.
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Physicians mend or end us, Secundum artem; but although we sneer - In health - when ill we call them to attend us, Without the least propensity to jeer.
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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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He seemsTo have seen better days, as who has notWho has seen yesterday?
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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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Armenian is the language to speak with God.
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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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Sighing that Nature formed but one such man,And broke the die, in molding Sheridan.
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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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I'll publish right or wrong:Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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You should have a softer pillow than my heart.
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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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Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.
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Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolish'd the right arm Of his own country.
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Yes! Ready money is Aladdin's lamp.
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So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
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And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.
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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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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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For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast.
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Romances paint at full length people's wooing. But only give a bust of marriages.