Lord Byron Quotes
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Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land-Good Night!
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I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?
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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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I cannot describe to you the despairing sensation of trying to do something for a man who seems incapable or unwilling to do anything further for himself.
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Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean.
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Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain.
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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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Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen.
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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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And lovelier things have mercy shownTo every failing but their own,And every woe a tear can claimExcept an erring sister's shame.
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Exhausting thought, And hiving wisdom with each studious year.
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The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
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The reason that adulation is not displeasing is that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie.
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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?
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They never fail who dieIn a great cause.
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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.
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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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And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure, In small fine china cups, came in at last. Gold cups of filigree, made to secure the hand from burning, underneath them place. Cloves, cinnamon and saffron, too, were boiled Up with the coffee, which, I think, they spoiled.
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Reason is so unreasonable, that few people can say they are in possession of it.
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But every fool describes, in these bright days, His wondrous journey to some foreign court, And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,-- Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport.
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I cannot conceive why people will always mix up my own character and opinions with those of the imaginary beings which, as a poet, I have the right and liberty to draw.
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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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History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page.
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Oh, God! it is a fearful thingTo see the human soul take wingIn any shape, in any mood.