Lord Byron Quotes
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It has been said that the immortality of the soul is a grand peut-tre -but still it is a grand one. Everybody clings to it -the stupidest, and dullest, and wickedest of human bipeds is still persuaded that he is immortal.
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Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast.
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Yet still there whispers the small voice within, Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din; Whatever creed be taught or land be trod, Man's conscience is the oracle of God.
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Self praise is no praise at all.
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And they were canopied by the blue sky, So cloudless, clear, and purely beautifulThat God alone was to be seen in heaven.
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The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains. Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the Night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn'd the language of another world.
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Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away.
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Send me no more reviews of any kind. - I will read no more of evil or good in that line. - Walter Scott has not read a review of himself for thirteen years.
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Who killed John Keats?'I,' says the Quarterly,So savage and Tartarly;''Twas one of my feats.'
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He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.
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The English winter - ending in July to recommence in August.
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My boat is on the shore,And my bark is on the sea;But, before I go, Tom Moore.Here's a double health to thee!
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If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.
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There be none of Beauty's daughtersWith a magic like thee;And like music on the watersIs thy sweet voice to me.
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Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
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Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtleAre emblems of deeds that are done in their clime?Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime!
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We have fools in all sects, and impostors in most; why should I believe mysteries no one can understand, because written by men who chose to mistake madness for inspiration and style themselves Evangelicals?
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I awoke one morning and found myself famous.
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Think not I am what I appear.
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The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the music breathing from her face, 19The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,- And oh, that eye was in itself a soul!
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I think the worst woman that ever existed would have made a man of very passable reputation -- they are all better than us and their faults such as they are must originate with ourselves.
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Hands promiscuously applied,Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side.
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I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
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Though the day of my Destiny's over,And the star of my Fate hath declined,Thy soft heart refused to discoverThe faults which so many could find.