Lord Byron Quotes
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So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry.
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The best prophet of the future is the past.
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Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
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I awoke one day to find myself famous.
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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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Fills The air around with beauty.
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The sky is changed,-and such a change! O night And storm and darkness! ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder.
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Shakespeare's name, you may depend on it, stands absurdly too high and will go down.
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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 quiet conscience makes one so serene.
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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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One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine.
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I learned to love despair.
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I am ashes where once I was fire.
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I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.
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Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth; but actions are our epochs.
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Opinions are made to be changed or how is truth to be got at?
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Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.
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Mans desires are limited by his perceptions; none can desire what he has not perceived.
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Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.
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We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.
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Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
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There is no instinct like that of the heart.