Lord Byron Quotes
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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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A woman being never at a loss... the devil always sticks by them.
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And gentle winds and waters near, make music to the lonely ear.
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Think not I am what I appear.
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Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.
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Hearts will break - yet brokenly, live on.
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The busy have no time for tears.
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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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Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast.
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Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life, The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!
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Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them?
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Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred.
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A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping In sight, then lost amidst the forestry Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy; A huge, dun cupola, like a fools-cap crown On a fool's head - and there is London Town.
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Man's conscience is the oracle of God.
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I have had, and may have still, a thousand friends, as they are called, in life, who are like one's partners in the waltz of this world -not much remembered when the ball is over.
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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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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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But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
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There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.
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Once more upon the waters! yet once more! And the waves bound beneath me as a steed That knows his rider.
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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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I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day.
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I had a dream, which was not all a dream.