Lord Byron Quotes
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Curiosity kills itself; and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.
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Socrates said, our only knowledge was "To know that nothing could be known;" a pleasant Science enough, which levels to an ass Each Man of Wisdom, future, past, or present. Newton, (that Proverb of the Mind,) alas! Declared, with all his grand discoveries recent, That he himself felt only "like a youth Picking up shells by the great Ocean-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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I should like to know who has been carried off, except poor dear me - I have been more ravished myself than anybody since the Trojan war.
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Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.
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So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
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The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name.
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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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The dew of compassion is a tear.
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Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
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Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber!
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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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I do detest everything which is not perfectly mutual.
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I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.
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The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
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Thy decay's still impregnate with divinity.
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Better to sink beneath the shockThan moulder piecemeal on the rock.
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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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Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty.
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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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'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.
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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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There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.
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The world is a bundle of hay,Mankind are the asses that pull,Each tugs in a different way-And the greatest of all is John Bull!