Lord Byron Quotes
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Well, well, the world must turn upon its axis, And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails, And live and die, make love and pay our taxes, And as the veering winds shift, shift our sails.
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My great comfort is, that the temporary celebrity I have wrung from the world has been in the very teeth of all opinions and prejudices. I have flattered no ruling powers; I have never concealed a single thought that tempted me.
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Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.
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For a man to become a poet, he must be in love, or miserable.
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Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.
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Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head?
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A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
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I should be very willing to redress men wrongs, and rather check than punish crimes, had not Cervantes, in that all too true tale of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail.
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Oh! if thou hast at length Discover'd that my love is worth esteem, I ask no more-but let us hence together, And I - let me say we - shall yet be happy. Assyria is not all the earth-we'll find A world out of our own - and be more bless'd Than I have ever been, or thou, with all An empire to indulge thee.
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He was a man of his times. with one virtue and a thousand crimes.
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Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.
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You should have a softer pillow than my heart.
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'Bring forth the horse!' - the horse was brought;In truth, he was a noble steed,A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,Who look'd as though the speed of thoughtWere in his limbs.
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My hair is grey, but not with years,Nor grew it whiteIn a single night,As men's have grown from sudden fears.
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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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Not to admire, is all the art I know To make men happy, or to keep them so. Thus Horace wrote we all know long ago; And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teach From his translation; but had none admired, Would Pope have sung, or Horace been inspired?
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But 'why then publish?' There are no rewards Of fame or profit when the world grows weary. I ask in turn why do you play at cards? Why drink? Why read? To make some hour less dreary. It occupies me to turn back regards On what I've seen or pondered, sad or cheery, And what I write I cast upon the stream To swim or sink. I have had at least my dream.
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This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.
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I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting.
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What an antithetical mind! - tenderness, roughness - delicacy, coarseness - sentiment, sensuality - soaring and groveling, dirt and deity - all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay!
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Were't the last drop in the well,As I gasp'd upon the brink,Ere my fainting spirit fell'T is to thee that I would drink.
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Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolish'd the right arm Of his own country.
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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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Armenian is a rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of learning it.