Lord Byron Quotes
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The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
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There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.
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As the liberty lads o'er the sea Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood, So we, boys, we Shall die fighting or live free, And down with all kings but King Ludd!
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As falls the dew on quenchless sands, blood only serves to wash ambition's hands.
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I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual.
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What makes a regiment of soldiers a more noble object of view than the same mass of mob? Their arms, their dresses, their banners, and the art and artificial symmetry of their position and movements.
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Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.
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Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers.
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Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
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We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
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Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires,And decorate the verse herself inspires:This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,-Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best.
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Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen.
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Curiosity kills itself; and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.
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O Fame! if I ever took delight in thy praises, Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover The thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
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I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.
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I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week.
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She walks the waters like a thing of life,And seems to dare the elements to strife.
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Where may the wearied eye repose When gazing on the Great; Where neither guilty glory glows, Nor despicable state? Yes - one - the first - the last - the best - The Cincinnatus of the West,Whom envy dared not hate,Bequeath'd the name of Washington,To make man blush there was but one!
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In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years; and curdles a long life into one hour.
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Grief should be the instructor of the wise; Sorrow is Knowledge.
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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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What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought.
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Better to sink beneath the shockThan moulder piecemeal on the rock.
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Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;The days of our youth are the days of our glory;And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twentyAre worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.