Lord Byron Quotes
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Such is the aspect of this shore;'T is Greece, but living Greece no more!So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,We start, for soul is wanting there.
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While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven,Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven,Or drawing from the no less kindled earthFreedom and peace to that which boasts his birth;While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'erShall sink while there's an echo left to air.
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Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
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A pretty woman is a welcome guest.
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I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes - and as cold as Charity, Chastity or any other Virtue.
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I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.
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For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear.
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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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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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Besides, they always smell of bread and butter.
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Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.
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This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.
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Your thief looks Exactly like the rest, or rather better; 'Tis only at the bar, and in the dungeon, That wise men know your felon by his features.
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Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.
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When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past-For years fleet away with the wings of the dove- The dearest remembrance will still be the last,Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.
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What's drinking?A mere pause from thinking!
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Bread has been made (indifferent) from potatoes; And galvanism has set some corpses grinning, But has not answer'd like the apparatus Of the Humane Society's beginning, By which men are unsuffocated gratis: What wondrous new machines have late been spinning.
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O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, 22Survey our empire, and behold our home!These are our realms, no limit to their sway,-Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
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The art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest and the stupidest of pretended sports.
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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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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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Her great merit is finding out mine; there is nothing so amiable as discernment.
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A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
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But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.