Lord Byron Quotes
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And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
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It is useless to tell one not to reason but to believe; you might as well tell a man not to wake but sleep.
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Tyranny is for the worst of treasons.
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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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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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A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.
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The best prophet of the future is the past.
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For the night Shows stars and women in a better light.
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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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Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?
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Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
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Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save.
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Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!
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If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company.
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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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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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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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Land of lost gods and godlike men.
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A thousand years may scare form a state. An hour may lay it in ruins.
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Good but rarely came from good advice.
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Above or Love, Hope, Hate or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure: An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years in moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die.
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Sleep hath its own world, and the wide realm of wild reality.
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It is by far the most elegant worship, hardly excepting the Greek mythology. What with incense, pictures, statues, altars, shrines, relics, and the real presence, confession, absolution, - there is something sensible to grasp at. Besides, it leaves no possibility of doubt; for those who swallow their Deity, really and truly, in transubstantiation, can hardly find any thing else otherwise than easy of digestion.