Lord Byron Quotes
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I have always laid it down as a maxim -and found it justified by experience -that a man and a woman make far better friendships than can exist between two of the same sex -but then with the condition that they never have made or are to make love to each other.
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There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave.
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Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
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...And these vicissitudes come best in youth; For when they happen at a riper age, People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth, And wonder Providence is not more sage. Adversity is the first path to truth: He who hath proved war, storm, or woman's rage, Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty, Has won experience which is deem'd so weighty.
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Our life is two fold Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality.
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Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?
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In solitude, when we are least alone.
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'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky; If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, I can't help thinking puberty assisted.
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The best prophet of the future is the past.
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If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company.
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It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment - but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?
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What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.
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And the commencement of atonement is the sense of its necessity.
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And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
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Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
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But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws So much, as when we call our old debts in At sixty years, and draw the accounts of evil, And find a deuced balance with the devil.
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For the night Shows stars and women in a better light.
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One of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer.
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O thou beautiful And unimaginable ether! and Ye multiplying masses of increased And still increasing lights! what are ye? what Is this blue wilderness of interminable Air, where ye roll along, as I have seen The leaves along the limpid streams of Eden? Is your course measur'd for ye? Or do ye Sweep on in your unbounded revelry Through an aerial universe of endless Expansion,--at which my soul aches to think,-- Intoxicated with eternity.
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Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality.