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There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.
Lord Byron -
The dew of compassion is a tear.
Lord Byron
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This place is the Devil, or at least his principal residence, they call it the University, but any other appellation would have suited it much better, for study is the last pursuit of the society; the Master eats, drinks, and sleeps, the Fellows drink, dispute and pun, the employments of the undergraduates you will probably conjecture without my description.
Lord Byron -
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.
Lord Byron -
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.
Lord Byron -
Of religion I know nothing -- at least, in its favor.
Lord Byron -
No more we meet in yonder bowers Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours, Have found monotony in loving.
Lord Byron -
Who hath not proved how feebly words essayTo fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray? Who doth not feel, until his failing sightFaints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart, confessThe might, the majesty of loveliness?
Lord Byron
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Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue By female lips and eyes--that is, I mean, When both the teacher and the taught are young, As was the case, at least, where I have been; They smile so when one's right; and when one's wrong They smile still more.
Lord Byron -
Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.
Lord Byron -
I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, And pity lovers rather more than seamen.
Lord Byron -
They never fail who dieIn a great cause.
Lord Byron -
The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.
Lord Byron -
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."
Lord Byron
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How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm! I thank thee, night! for thou has chased away these horrid bodements which, amidst the throng, I could not dissipate; and with the blessing of thy benign and quiet influence now will I to my couch, although to rest is almost wronging such a night as this.
Lord Byron -
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?
Lord Byron -
To what gulfs A single deviation from the track Of human duties leads even those who claim The homage of mankind as their born due, And find it, till they forfeit it themselves!
Lord Byron -
This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal.
Lord Byron -
Pythagoras, Locke, Socrates - but pages might be filled up, as vainly as before, with the sad usage of all sorts of sages, who in his life-time, each was deemed a bore! The loftiest minds outrun their tardy ages.
Lord Byron -
So, we'll go no more a rovingSo late into the night,Though the heart be still as loving,And the moon be still as bright.
Lord Byron
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Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls.
Lord Byron -
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast.
Lord Byron -
All human history attests That happiness for man, - the hungry sinner! - Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner.
Lord Byron -
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.
Lord Byron