Lord Byron Quotes
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Who falls from all he knows of bliss, Cares little into what abyss.
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I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand; I saw from out the wave of her structure's rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble pines, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.
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I die - but first I have possessed,And come what may, I have been blessed.
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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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The sight of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, As the first wine-cup leads to the long revel.
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My mother Earth!And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains,Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye.And thou, the bright eye of the universe,That openest over all, and unto allArt a delight-thou shin'st not on my heart.
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You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her. Never underestimate the power of love. The way to love anything is to realize it may be lost. The heart has its reasons that reason does not know at all. Music is love in search of a word. There is pleasure in the pathless woods; there is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society, where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar.
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She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies;And all that's best of dark and brightMeet in her aspect and her eyes:Thus mellow'd to that tender lightWhich heaven to gaudy day denies.
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Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
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Always laugh when you can; it is cheap medicine. Merriment is a philosophy not well understood. It is the sunny side of existence.
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In the desert a fountain is springing,In the wide waste there still is a tree,And a bird in the solitude singing,Which speaks to my spirit of thee.
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Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice-- The weakness and the wickedness of luxury-- The negligence--the apathy--the evils Of sensual sloth--produces ten thousand tyrants, Whose delegated cruelty surpasses The worst acts of one energetic master, However harsh and hard in his own bearing.
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The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle.
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I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day.
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But I hate things all fiction... there should always be some foundation of fact for the most airy fabric - and pure invention is but the talent of a liar.
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Hope withering fled, and Mercy sighed farewell!
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Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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A great poet belongs to no country; his works are public property, and his Memoirs the inheritance of the public.
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Where may the wearied eye repose When gazing on the Great; Where neither guilty glory glows, Nor despicable state? Yes - one - the first - the last - the best - The Cincinnatus of the West,Whom envy dared not hate,Bequeath'd the name of Washington,To make man blush there was but one!
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Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave?
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His heart was one of those which most enamour us,Wax to receive, and marble to retain:He was a lover of the good old school,Who still become more constant as they cool.
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There 's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.
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By thy cold breast and serpent smile,By thy unfathom'd gulfs of guile,By that most seeming virtuous eye,By thy shut soul's hypocrisy;By the perfection of thine artWhich pass'd for human thine own heart;By thy delight in others' pain,And by thy brotherhood of Cain,I call upon thee! and compelThyself to be thy proper Hell!
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From my youth upwardsMy spirit walk'd not with the souls of men,Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes;The thirst of their ambition was not mine,The aim of their existence was not mine;My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powersMade me a stranger.