Lord Byron Quotes
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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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The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
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I'll publish right or wrong:Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber!
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There is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?
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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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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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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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The very best of vineyards is the cellar.
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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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Armenian is the language to speak with God.
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There is pleasure in the pathless woods.
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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.
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He seemsTo have seen better days, as who has notWho has seen yesterday?
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Man's love is of man's life a part; it is a woman's whole existence. In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love.
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But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.
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A material resurrection seems strange and even absurd except for purposes of punishment, and all punishment which is to revenge rather than correct must be morally wrong, and when the World is at an end, what moral or warning purpose can eternal tortures answer?
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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!
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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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Whose game was empires and whose stakes were thrones,Whose table earth, whose dice were human bones.
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Oh, Amos Cottle! Phœbus! what a name!
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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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As soon seek roses in December, ice in June, Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff Believe a woman or an epitaph Or any other thing that’s false Before you trust in critics.
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Heaven gives its favourites-early death.