Lord Byron Quotes
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Near this spotAre deposited the Remains of oneWho possessed Beauty without Vanity,Strength without Insolence,Courage without Ferocity,And all the virtues of Man, without his Vices.This Praise, which would be unmeaning FlatteryIf inscribed over human ashes,Is but a just tribute to the Memory ofBOATSWAIN, a DOG
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The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name.
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Happiness was born a twin.
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He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.
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Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
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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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And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter.
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Talent may be in time forgiven, but genius never.
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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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A small drop of ink makes thousands, perhaps millions... think.
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I hate all pain, Given or received; we have enough within us The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, Not to add to each other's natural burden Of mortal misery.
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Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty.
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And thou wert lovely to the last,Extinguish'd, not decay'd;As stars that shoot along the skyShine brightest as they fall from high.
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Of religion I know nothing -- at least, in its favor.
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Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
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Ancient of days! august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were; First in the race that led to glory's goal, They won, and pass'd away--Is this the whole?
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All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
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Dreading that climax of all human ills the inflammation of his weekly bills.
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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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I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture.
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Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.
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Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear-- In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.
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And then he danced,-all foreigners excel the serious Angels in the eloquence of pantomime;-he danced, I say, right well, with emphasis, and a'so with good sense-a thing in footing indispensable: he danced without theatrical pretence, not like a ballet-master in the van of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.
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That which I am, I am; I did not seekFor life, nor did I make myself.