Lord Byron Quotes
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Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
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Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
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What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?
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You have to have a passion for your work. How can we expect people to be passionate if you, as their coach, does not have a passion? Coaching has to be something that gives you passion and energy.
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The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,-too many, yet how few!
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The 'good old times' - all times when old are good -Are gone.
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Seek out - less often sought than found -A Soldier's Grave, for thee the best;Then look around and choose thy Ground,And take thy Rest.
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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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When we two partedIn silence and tears,Half brokenhearted,To sever for years.
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The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.
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Talent may be in time forgiven, but genius never.
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You are the fools, not I - for I did dwell With a deep thought, and with a softened eye, On that Old Sexton's natural homily, In which there was Obscurity and Fame, The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.
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Accursed be the city where the laws would stifle nature's!
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But stories somehow lengthen when begun.
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Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls.
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To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
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I stood among them, but not of them: in a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts.
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The premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting.
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Better to sink beneath the shockThan moulder piecemeal on the rock.
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Books, Manuals, Directives, Regulations. The geometries that circumscribe your working life draw norrower and norrower until nothing fits inside them anymore.
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I live,But live to die: and, living, see no thingTo make death hateful, save an innate clinging,A loathsome and yet all invincibleInstinct of life, which I abhor, as IDespise myself, yet cannot overcome-And so I live. Would I had never lived!
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Of religion I know nothing -- at least, in its favor.
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For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.
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How my soul hates This language, Which makes life itself a lie,Flattering dust with eternity.