Lord Byron Quotes
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Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
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For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast.
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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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Nothing can confound a wise man more than laughter from a dunce.
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The very best of vineyards is the cellar.
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Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
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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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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.
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That which I am, I am; I did not seekFor life, nor did I make myself.
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Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them.
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He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.
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Tis an old lesson; time approves it true, And those who know it best, deplore it most; When all is won that all desire to woo, The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost.
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A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
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There is no traitor like him whose domestic treason plants the poniard within the breast that trusted to his truth.
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No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell!
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Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who 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 flattery if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the memory of Botswain, a dog.
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What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour: For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.
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I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, And pity lovers rather more than seamen.
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Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty.
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With flowing tail and flying mane, Wide nostrils never stretched by pain, Mouth bloodless to bit or rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscar'd by spur or rod, A thousand horses - the wild - the free - Like waves that follow o'er the sea, Came thickly thundering on.
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So much alarmed that she is quite alarming...
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If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to himself...that a tiger is an optical illusion--well, he will find out he is wrong. The tiger will himself intervene in the discussion, in a manner which will be in every sense conclusive.
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O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper, which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour.
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Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogether, then inarticulate, and then drunk. When we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down again without stumbling.